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P/286, — “Just the place !” be ejaculated. “ I’ll hide the body in the cellar.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA 


By 


PAUL INGELOW. 





Copyright, 1892, Melbourne Publishing Co. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


1892. 

MELBOURNE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

CHICAGO. 



THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Chapter I. 

THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 

“ Hark ! ” 

A tempest of summer rain had been sweep- 
ing hill, valley and dale. 

Then the sun had come out, bursting from 
the fleecy clouds like a bright, joyous being 
bent on a race across blue meadows. 

From every tree and bush a million glitter- 
ing drops of rain hung, swaying, scintillating, 
flashing like pendant diamonds. 

And now, from the shelter he had sought 
among a clump of elders, a man stepped into 
view, the only human being visible on this 
grand alternating panorama of nature. 

In face, build and attire, he was so com- 
pletely in harmony with the sun-jeweled land- 
scape, that, as he stood surveying its beauties 
with the eyes of a dreamer, he seemed a 
sentient part of it. 


7 


8 THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

His garb was that of a tourist or artist 
bent on an outing, for which he had selected 
attire comfortable, appropriate, yet neat. 

It fitted his athletic form till the well-built 
muscles showed swelling and rounded with 
health and vitality. 

The light cap surmounted a brow broad, 
intellectual, yet bronzed with exposure to the 
summer sun. 

Beneath it flashed eyes poetic, earnest, 
yet active, subdued to tenderness as they 
took in the dreamy glories of nature, yet 
susceptible of expressing vivid emotion when 
the heart was deeply stirred. 

The chin was narrow, yet set, the mouth, 
sympathetic, yet firm, and, altogether, the 
striking combination of gravity and gentle- 
ness, resolution and tenderness, calculation 
and purity, method and dreaminess, evinced 
that their possessor was a remarkable man. 

His light tennis-shoes showed preparation 
for tedious tramps, and were travel-worn and 
dusty. Across his shoulder ran a strap se- 
cured to an oblong case. Hanging to it, too, 
was what resembled a small portable photo- 
graphic camera. 

He had paused as he stepped from shelter 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. g 

to enjoy momentarily the glories of hill, field 
and valley spread before him like a painter s 
canvas, and to drink in the deep, exhilarating 
draught of the fresh, cool air, when, with a 
start, he bent his ear, and, a rapt expression 
on his fine face, he uttered the quick, invol- 
untary word — 

‘^Hark!” 

If his eye had before shown the ardor of a 
true artist in his survey of the smiling land- 
scape, it now glowed with the eager appre- 
ciation of a true musician. 

For the divine trinity of pure pleasure was 
completed, golden light, glowing nature, and 
now seraphic melody. 

Birds were singing, but it was not their 
sweet notes, clear and resonant as silver 
beads dropped into a crystal dish, that en- 
tranced him. 

A near waterfall trickled over the rocks 
with a swinging murmur of harmony, the soft 
zephyrs swayed the pines to the rhythm of 
^olian melody, but these sounds were 
drowned in a full, glorious burst of magnifi- 
cent song. 

Like one held in the thrall of the most ex- 


lO THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

quisite pleasure, the young man listened 
enrapt. 

“ Help some soul its strength renew, 

As the journey we pursue, 

Oh ! the good we all may do. 

While the days are passing by ! ” 

The words rang out clear and echoing, 
every quivering leaf seemed to vibrate with 
them — the golden, lute-like voice that pro- 
nounced them seemed to be too seraphic to 
be human. Well might he listen ! Well 
might the scintillating rain-drops throb 
and jar in consonance with the noble song 
that filled air, heart and senses as if thrilled 
from the lips of a famous diva ! 

‘‘ Is the wood enchanted ? ” 

The stranger asked himself the question in 
a subdued tone, as if fearful of breaking a 
spell of magic. 

Then, with wistful eyes and eager steps, 
he stole along the path leading to a copse, 
from whence or beyond which had certainly 
emanated that full, clear burst of glorious 
melody. 

He penetrated the little belt of timber. 
The forest nymph was nowhere in sight. 
Approaching its other edge, however, he 
drew back suddenly, warily. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, i i 

The fair one stood revealed. If the 
song had enchanted the traveler, the singer 
held heart, interest and glance under a new 
spell of witchery. 

Where some wild vines formed a kind of 
canopy, she lingered, as if there she had 
taken temporary refuge from the passing 
shower. 

Dreamy influences about her, pure emo- 
tions awakened by the happy voices of nat- 
ure, her soul had found expression for its 
thoughts, ambitions and aspirations in that 
song of praise and hope. 

Her face was perfect, her form rounded to 
the symmetry of a Niobe. Only the eyes, 
half veiled with dewy sadness, told that she 
was other than some happy maiden, content 
to wander forever amid the budding beauties 
of field and forest. 

''What a picture 

The stranger breathed the words soft and 
low. If his eyes expressed admiration of 
the lovely face, that ardor was tempered with 
the quick, artistic sense that proclaimed him 
to be a true poet and dreamer. 

"I must catch that face — the scene, its 
surroundings,” he went on, eagerly. "Nat- 


1 2 the chronicle of a camera. 

ure, beauty, art — if she will only keep that 
pose for another moment!” 

His eyes fixed intently upon her, trie stran- 
ger deftly slipped, the smaller box from the 
strap across his shoulder. 

He removed its canvas covering, revealing 
as he did so a neat photographic camera, 
provided with catch, slides, focus adjustments 
and automatic shutter for ready manipulation. 

Leaning it against a gnarled, stout vine, he 
got a perfect focus on the bower, the girl and 
her immediate surroj^dings. 

The back of the case came into view as he 
did so. Across the black surface, in plain 
white letters, was painted a name — his name 
— for identification of the camera, to protect 
it from loss or theft. 

It read : 


JERA LE BRITTA, 

Photographer, 


His finger ready to snap the catch that 
should open the shutter and time the expos- 
ure, the artist started. 

With slight excitement he peered at the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. j 3 

girl and beyond her, a little gasp of alarm 
escaping his lips. 

For something unexpected had happened, 
that, in later moments of his life, he was to 
realize, trivial as it was, should change the 
current of many careers, and render this a 
most portentous hour in his young destiny. 

The hour was a potent one — he was to 
know that soon — yes, fate had precipitated 
a strange climax on that smiling landscape,, 
and '' ^/le /lour and the man' had arrived ! 

Startled, as has been said, by a somewhat 
unexpected and remarkable occurrence, the 
artist was still intent on securing a picture of 
the fair scene and the fair being who filled it, 
at all hazards. 

His deft fingers touched the button of the 
camera. 

Click ! 


Chapter II. 

FALCON AND DOVE. 

Click ! 

The work was done ! The little shutter 
lifted, hung suspended for a flashing moment 
of time, and then shot back into place, hold- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


14 

ing its precious secret safe on the sensitive 
plate within the slide. 

A stroke of marvelous art had caught the 
scene in a flash, had chronicled its every out- 
line, and the picture of the fair girl was the 
reward of the dexterity of the artist. 

Something besides, too ! — the excited 
artist knew that — and instantly his mind 
recurred to the extraordinary and unexpected 
occurrence that had disturbed him. 

For, just as that ominous click sounded, a 
baleful presence had appeared to mar the fair 
scene. 

From the dense shrubbery at the side of 
the bower of vines a human face had come 
suddenly, startlingly into view. 

The artist had seen it ; he realized its dis- 
turbing effect upon an otherwise placid 
scene, but, fearful that the young girl gazing 
dreamily at the beautiful landscape might 
observe it too, and change her pose, he shot 
the shutter at once. 

To the intruder, Jera Le Britta now trans- 
ferred his attention. 

There was something sinister in the actions 
of the new-comer. His face was that of a man 
malignant, hate-filled, venomous, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


15 

Dressed like a tramp, there was something 
in his glittering eyes and handsome though 
evil face, that proclaimed his garb to be a 
disguise. 

He wore a green, broad shade over one 
eye, and this disfigured, almost concealed his 
features. He had lifted it to bestow one 
quick, searching glance on the girl, but low- 
ered it instantly afterward. 

The girl had not moved. She was all un- 
conscious of the proximity of the artist, of 
the sinister cynosure of the tramp. 

The latter, never taking his glance from 
her face, slowly and cautiously extricated him- 
self from the entangling vines that formed a 
barrier between himself and the bower. 

The artist drew nearer to the edge of the 
wood. There was much in the appearance 
of the intruder that suggested the slimy ser- 
pent bent on decoying and charming the shy, 
innocent dove. Le Britta’s suspicious in- 
stincts were aroused, his keenest sense of 
chivalry, too, and he determined to watch 
and await the outcome of the scene, that held 
in its very incipiency all the elements of a 
strange and weird plot. 

What had guided his steps hither? Fate ! 


1 6 the chronicle of a camera. 

The girl probably resided in some of the 
pretty villas that lined the green slopes half- 
a-mile distant. The man might be a thieving 
tramp, but his actions indicated some deep 
motive in studying the girl ere he approached 
her. 

The artist observed him steal noiselessly 
toward her. Had the glittering gold bracelet 
on the girl’s arm aroused the cupidity of his 
thieving instincts? No ; a few feet distant 
from the object of his interest, the tramp 
came to an abrupt halt. 

He had stepped on a dry twig, and its 
crackling had startled the girl. Rapid as a 
flash she turned. Quick as lightning the 
tramp dropped to an attitude of the most 
abject servility, with bent face and extended ' 
hand, assuming the pose and bearing of a 
professional mendicant. 

The girl was startled, more, frightened. 
She uttered a little cry of alarm, shrank 
back, gazed wildly about her, as if bent on 
speeding precipitately from the spot, and 
then, quivering with timidity and dread, she 
gasped incoherently : 

“ Who are you ? What do want ? ” 

The man whined out some unintelligible 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. j 7 

words. The girl, her hand crossed nervously 
over her palpitating heart, seemed to strive 
to regain her composure. 

Jera Le Britta, a spell-bound spectator of 
the scene, saw the tramp’s shaded eyes glow 
from beneath the impromptu mask he wore 
like those of a baleful basilisk. 

“Oh! is it alms.^” murmured the fair 
maiden in a gentle, pitying tone. “You 
look poor, hungry, tired. Here, I have not 
much. You are welcome to that.” 

She drew forth a tiny, jeweled purse. Her 
fingers trembled as she extended the few 
coins that it contained. 

The tramp edged nearer. His great rough 
hand closed over the coins and her dainty 
fingers as well. She shuddered and drew 
back, for it was evident that the man had 
made slow work of securing the money, in 
order to take a keen, sweeping survey of her 
features. 

“Thanks!’^ he grated forth, hoarsely. 
“Tell me, lady, though, your name?” 

“My name?” repeated the girl, flushing 
indignantly. “ Why should I do that?” 

“Sol can remember my kind benefactress.” 

So palpable a sneer was manifest in the 


1 8 THE CHRONICLE OF ' A CAMERA. 

accents, that the girl started with suspicious 
dislike and positive alarm. 

,With quiet dignity, however, she bestowed 
a cold look on her pensioner, and said : 

‘‘My name cannot be of any interest to 
you, and I do not care to publish a trifling 
charity.” 

“ But I want to know ! ” 

Of a sudden the tramp’s bearing changed. 
He arose from his crouching attitude of mock 
servility. 

Aggressive, insolent, threatening, he 
blocked her way, as she uttered a cry of 
alarm. 

“ And I will know ! ” he blustered. 
“Charity? Bah! Take back your gold, 
scatter it to the pauper brats down at the 
almshouse. Keep it, and may it sink you 
and all about you, but you tell me what I 
want to know before I leave this spot, or you 
either, my proud lady I ” 

With a scornful swing of his hand, the 
tramp had flung the money in his grasp dis- 
dainfully on the ground at the feet of his 
astounded almoner. 

Now, coming nearer to her, he hissed : 

“ I’d know that face from a picture 1 saw. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


19 

I’ve watched you and saw you come from 
Hawthorne villa. You are Gladys Vernon.” 

The girl grew pale. Her eyes told that 
the man had made a correct conjecture. 

“If I am,” she faltered, “what is that to 
you .^” 

“ You shall see. If you are Gladys Ver- 
non, you are the niece of old Gideon Vernon. 
It’s not you I care to know about. I can 
guess that you have been lucky enough to be 
adopted as the favorite of that crotchety old 
miser, but there’s some questions about him 
I’m going to ask, and you’re going to answer.” 

The girl’s face had grown steadily whiter. 
Defiance, fear, played alternately across her 
colorless features. 

Le Britta, about to spring forward and 
relieve her from the presence and distressing 
importunities of the insolent intruder, re- 
strained himself, as some intuitive instinct 
told him that the man’s later actions might 
reveal his motive in thus interrogating her, 
and afford her friends a clue to his designs. 

“ First,” announced the man, “I want to 
know if old Vernon#is not pretty near used 
up-” 

“ My uncle is quite ill,” spoke the girl, icily. 


20 the chronicle of a camera. 

“ Good ! He’d ought to die ! ” was the 
heartless rejoinder. “Now then, has he 
altered his will lately ? ” 

The tramp fairly hissed the words. So in- 
tense was his malignity of expression, that 
Miss Gladys Vernon recoiled with a cry of 
terror. 

“I will not tell you. You are some vil- 
lain seeking to learn his secrets, to do him 
harm. Release me ! help ! help ! help ! ” 

For the villain had seized her white, 
shapely wrists in his brutal grasp. 

“You shall tell me!” he glowered; 
fiercely. “ Quick ! Has he changed his 
will ? Speak ! I will know ! ” 

“You scoundrel, lie there ! ” 

Smack I 

The man who could paint pictures, and 
write poetry, and dream over sunny land- 
scapes, could fight, as well. 

All the chivalry in his energetic nature 
aroused, Jera Le Britta had sprung forward. 

His good right arm shot out like a piston 
rod. 

His sinewy fist landed squarely between 
the eyes of the insolent boor before him. 

And the next moment, as the fair young 


THE CHROXICLE OF A CAMERA. 2 I 

girl clung frantically to the photographers 
free arm for support, the trampish knave 
who had insulted her, measured his length 
on the ground at her feet. 


Chapter III. 

A STARTLING RECOGNITION. 

Jera Le Britta was a practical man, and 
had led a prosaic life. That is, only senti- 
ment and a love for the artistic had been the 
main diversity in his existence from plod- 
ding, everyday routine. 

The hour for action had arrived, however, 
and he was not found lacking. A gentleman, 
a friend to distress wherever found, his heart 
had responded like magic to the call of 
beauty unprotected. 

The tableau that ensued to his speedy 
interference in the scene at the wild-vine 
bower, was a dramatic one. His fine face 
aglow with indignation and resolve, he formed 
a fitting companion for the innocent girl, who 
trustingly recognized him as a valued pro- 
tector, and a striking contrast to the enraged 
and discomfited boor at his feet. 


22 the chronicle OF A CAMERA. 

“Leave!’’ he ordered, making a second ad- 
vance toward the prostrate ruffian, but Miss 
Vernon interposed a restraining hand. 

'‘You have punished him enough,” she 
faltered, tremulously. “Let him depart in 
peace.” 

“Peace!” snorted the tramp, struggling to 
his feet and scowling frightfully. “ I’ll show 
you, my haughty lady. You, too, you inso- 
lent interferer. rii” 

“ Go, if you are wise ! ” ordered Le Britta, 
warningly. 

With a malevolent scowl, the subdued 
knave shrank from the spot. 

“Do not tremble so, you are safe now,” 
spoke the photographer to his companion. 

“He frightened me!” quavered the girl, 
apprehensively. “ He hinted at such dread- 
ful things about uncle ! He has threatened 
even you ! ” 

Le Britta smiled confidently. 

“ He will do wisely to keep out of my path 
in the future,” he said. “And now. Miss 
Vernon ” 

“ What ! Y ou know my name ? ” said the 
girl, with surprise. 

“ I was a witness to your interview with 


The chronicle of a camera. 


23 

that malignant scoundrel,” explained the art- 
ist. ‘'From his lips I learned your name. 
You reside near here?” 

She pointed across the valley, to a preten- 
tious mansion gleaming white and massive 
among the trees on the other slope. 

“ I live with my uncle,” she murmured, 
“and I must hasten home. He will be anx- 
ious about me. I had been to the village on 
an errand, was caught in the shower, and 
sought shelter here.” 

“And joined the birds in singing a bright 
welcome to the returning sunshine?” re- 
marked Le Britta. 

The young girl flushed with embarrass- 
ment. 

“ You heard me,” she faltered. 

“ That song led me to you.” replied the 
photographer. “One moment. Miss Vernon, 
till I secure my traps, and I will accompany 
you on your way.” 

“Oh! I could not think of troubling you,” 
she said. 

“ It will be a pleasure to me, perhaps a 
protection to you,” responded Le Britta. 
“That scoundrel may seek to trouble you 
again.” 


24 the chronicle of a camera. 

*‘But he has disappeared.’’ 

“ Perhaps only temporarily. I do not wish 
to needlessly alarm you, but that man is no 
tramp.” 

“Then” 

“ He was disguised.” 

“ For what purpose?” 

“ I know not, only his questions evinced a 
familiarity with your family history. He 
means your uncle harm, I fear.” 

“ Oh ! I hope not,” murmured the girl, 
concernedly, clasping her hands in frantic 
anxiety. “ Uncle is so low and nervous that 
the least thing will startle him. He has 
some secret care all the time, and this rude 
fellow would alarm, terrify him ! Yes ! yes ! 
If you will accompany me ; if you will ex- 
plain to uncle. He may know the man. 
You can warn him, enlighten him.” 

Le Britta had secured his camera and other 
traps. Miss Vernon, leaning lightly on his 
arm, they took the path leading toward the 
villa she had indicated. 

The great, honest heart of the artist went 
out in sympathy toward his fair companion 
as they walked along the flower-spangled 
path. 


THE CHROHICLE OE A CAMERA. 


25 

The consciousness of duty done made him 
content. A keen interest in the girl led 
him to hope they should know more of one 
another ere they parted. 

His expansive nature ever took a delight 
in deeds of chivalry and kindness ; and, as 
she told him of the lonely life she led at the 
sequestered villa, he marveled that so fair a, 
face had not long since attracted the loving 
attention of some kindred spirit. 

Opulence and stability showed on every 
side, as Gladys led the way into the exten- 
sive grounds of Hawthorne villa. 

Grandeur, tinged with gloom, haunted the 
massive rooms within the house with their 
rich adornment. 

Miss Vernon indicated a chair in the draw- 
ing-room, and said she would see if her uncle 
was able to receive a visitor. 

The latter could hear her speak in low, 
gentle tones to some one in the next apart- 
ment beyond the closed doors. Then a more 
masculine tone answered faintly, and then 
she reappeared with her soft, pleasing smile. 

“ Uncle will see you, Mr. Le Britta,” she 
said. “ I want you to tell him all about the 


26 the chronicle of a camera. 

man I met, only do not excite him too 
much.” 

“I think you are wise in enlightening- 
him,” assented the photographer. “ That 
man certainly means mischief to your uncle.” 

Uncle, this is Mr. Le Britta, a gentleman 
whose friendly kindness served me in a situa- 
tion of peril to-day.” 

“ Peril ! ” repeated a startled voice, and 
Le Britta found himself bowing to an aus- 
tere, white-haired old man, propped up 
among pillows in an arm-chair near the open 
window. 

'‘Embarrassment, Miss Vernon should 
have said,” interpolated Le Britta, lightly. 
“ Do not be alarmed, Mr. Vernon. I am a 
photographer on a wayward tour, and I 
chanced to interfere with the insolence of a 
tramp a short time since.” 

With shrewd finesse, the photographer pro- 
ceeded to relate the incident of the hour. 
He told the story simply, robbing the narra- 
tion of all exciting details as far as possible. 

To his surprise, however, as he concluded 
the recital, Mr. Vernon grew dreadfully pale, 
and, sinking back among the pillows, uttered 
a worried moan. 


the chronicle of a camera. 


• 

‘^Trouble — peril!” he gasped. “Yes! 
Yes! It means something. Oh! must my 
life be ever filled with fear ? Gladys, this 
man was no tramp.” 

“ I think not.” 

“An enemy, then. Yes, yes” 

“Uncle, I pray you do not get excited!” 
exclaimed Gladys, solicitously. “You know 
the doctor forbade any agitation.” 

“But this man — he knew your name. He 
threatened me ! He asked about my will ” 

“ He may have been some prying rogue 
bent only on terrifying Miss Vernon,” sug- 
gested Le Britta, soothingly. 

“No!” cried her uncle, forcibly. “There 
is a plot here. Ah ! I feared it. Quick, 
Gladys ! describe him.” 

The young girl did so to the best of her 
ability. There was no sign of recognition 
in old Gideon Vernon’s ashen face as she 
concluded, however. 

“I musf know who that man is,” he cried, 
in a sharp, querulous tone. “I am satisfied 
that peril menaces us. Who can he be ?” 

“Ah ! I had forgotten it.” 

Le Britta arose suddenly to his feet as he 
spoke, a latent excitement in his eyes. 


28 the chroxicle oe a camera. 

Forg’otten what ? ” demanded Mr. Vernon, 
wonderingly. 

“You would like to know who the tramp 
was t 

“ I shall know no rest till I find out,” an- 
swered the old man, anxiously. 

“ Will his picture do ? ” 

“ His picture ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Have you got it ? ” inquired the old man, 
eagerly. 

“ I have.” 

“ Where ? Show it to me ! ” 

“ It must be developed first. Allow me to 
explain. I was taking a snap-shot picture 
with my camera of Miss Vernon. Just then 
the tramp came into view. His face, as well, 
will show clearly on the plate.” 

“ What fortune ? Where is it ? ” 

“ In my camera, but I can develop a nega- 
tive quickly, only I must have a dark room 
in which to perfect it.” 

Le Britta soon made his interested and ex- 
cited auditors comprehend what he had to do 
in order to produce a distinguishable picture. 

Soon, too, he was shown to a dark apart- 
ment. Here, with ruby lamp, trays and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


29 

chemicals, he perfected the plate taken from 
the camera. 

Old Gideon Vernon’s hands trembled with 
excitement as he saw him reappear, bearing 
the glass plate between his fingers. 

“ It is a perfect picture,” spoke Le Britta, 
as he held the plate between the old man’s 
range of vision and the light of the open win- 
dow. • “ See, Mr. Vernon, there is your niece, 
and here is the tramp. Do you recognize 
him ? ” 

With staring eyes the old man glared at 
the outlines on the plate. 

Then, with a hollow groan, he threw up 
his thin, white hands, and sank back a hud- 
dled, senseless heap among the pillows, with 
the agonized utterance : 

“ It is he — the dead alive. Act, Gladys ! 
act ! or — all is lost ! ” 

Chapter IV. 

FROM THE PAST. 

Jera Le Britta looked startled as he ob- 
served the wealthy and aged Gideon Vernon 
sink back insensible, uttering those ominous 
words — 


30 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


“Act, Gladys, act ! or all is lost ! ” 

The effect of this marvelous statement on 
the girl, was to drive every vestige of color 
from her face. 

“ He is dying ! ” she shrieked, bending 
over the limp and motionless figure of her 
uncle. “The shock has killed him.” 

“ No, no. Miss Vernon,” said Le Britta, 
quickly. “He has only fainted. You really 
must not excite yourself. Allow me to give 
him the attention he needs. Bring some 
water.” 

The young photographer knew much of 
chemicals, something as well about medi- 
cines. He hastened to examine a medicine 
case outspread on the table. Selecting a 
phial, he poured a few drops into the goblet 
which Gladys presented with a trembling 
hand and fear-filled face, and then, approach- 
ing the invalid again, he forced the stimulant 
between the ashen lips of the old man. 

Watched with haunted, frightened eyes by 
the girl, and speculatively by the more com- 
posed artist, the invalid slowly rallied. A 
sigh escaped his lips, his eyes opened, glared 
wildly about him, and then, with a shudder, 
he gasped hoarsely : 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 3 j 

'‘Where is he — that man — Ralph Du- 
rand ? ” 

“Is that the name of the tramp?” began 
Le Britta. 

“ He is no tramp.” 

“ I suspected as much.” 

“ He is a scoundrel of the deepest dye, an 
enemy, a man to fear, a being to chain, as 
you would a wild beast; and I thought him 
dead ! I rested in fancied security ! ” 

“ You may be mistaken ; a fancied resem- 
blance,” hazarded Le Britta. 

“ No ! ” cried the old man, definitely, “ I 
am not in error. It is no fancied resem- 
blance. There is but one Ralph Durand in 
the world, and he has appeared in this vicin- 
ity to-day. The picture you showed me is 
his. Do you know what that means ? ” 

Le Britta regarded the hollow-eyed invalid 
and his increasing agitation with alarm. 
Vernon’s nerves were at a frightful tension. 

“It means plot, peril, crime, and the will 
— all! I see it all. I must be calm, I must 
act with promptness and prudence, or we are 
lost. Gladys, I must see you alone to direct 
you. You must hasten to the village at 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


32 

once. This stranger must not be harassed 
with our family troubles” 

“Mr. Vernon,” interrupted Le Britta, 
gravely, '‘it is true that I am a stranger, but 
I am deeply interested, and deeply sym- 
pathize in your troubles. You are in a 
dangerously weak condition. Too much ex- 
citement may prove fatal to you. I beg of 
you to be calm, to composedly tell me your 
story, and allow me to aid you in any way I 
can. You surely would hot think of sending 
your niece back into danger of meeting that 
villain again ? ” 

“ Trust a stranger ? ” mused Vernon, dubi- 
ously. 

“Yes, uncle, you can trust Mr. Le Britta,” 
spoke Gladys, with a grateful, confident 
glance at her rescuer. 

“I will,” announced Vernon, resolutely. 
“ Mr. Le Britta, I depend solely on you to 
aid me, to protect this fair young girl who 
will soon be friendless, as she is an orphan.” 

“ No ! no ! uncle, do not say that,” sobbed 
Gladys. 

“ It is true. I feel that I cannot long sur- 
vive this last shock,” proceeded the invalid. 
“I am a wealthy man, Mr. Le Britta, with 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


33 

but one near relative, my darling, faithful 
Gladys. To her, three years ago, I left by 
will all my fortune.” 

‘‘ Then what interest can this villain Ralph 
Durand have in knowing about it — what 
have you to fear from him ? ” queried Le- 
Britta, wonderingly. 

Vernon shivered apprehensively. 

•'‘Much to fear at all times,” he replied, 
“but just now only regarding Gladys’ future. 
This man is a distant relative, a half cousin. 
Three years ago he was my favorite. Gladys 
was not with me then. I trusted Durand with 
the control of my property. I treated him 
like a son. I had deposited in a bank sev- 
eral thousand dollars which I intended leav- 
ing to him when I die. I made a will. Gladys, 
of course, was my sole heiress. In that will I 
appointed as as her guardian this man Ralph 
Durand, with rare discretionary powers, until 
she was of age, for I trusted him implicitly. 
His fellow-trustee was a friend of mine. 
Doctor Winston.” 

“ I understand,” nodded Le Britta, compre- 
hendingly. 

“That will I deposited with my city lawyer. 
In his safe it has since lain. A short time 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


34 

after I made it, Durand was unmasked to me. 
Slowly, doubtingly I grew to believe, and, 
finally, investigated the dark rumors that 
reached my ears about his bad habits. I 
learned that he was a profligate, a gambler 
of the worst kind, that he openly scoffed at 
me as ' a golden goose he was plucking ’ to his 
evil-minded companions in vice. I found that 
he had systematically robbed me, that he was 
a forger and an embezzler in matters of my 
estate. I summoned him to my presence, 
and told him all. I ordered him from my 
door. He left. That night he managed to 
get a forged check for a large amount on my 
banker cashed, and on a second forged order 
he obtained a box containing some private 
papers of mine. Among them was a — a 
document,” and Vernon faltered and paled 
visibly. It referred to a family secret that 
I wished to guard at all hazards. I sent de- 
tectives on his track, but it was of no avail. 
Every day dreading that from some secure 
and distant place he would begin to menace 
me with giving publicity to the secret, I 
shuddered and feared. Finally, one day, in 
a newspaper I read that Ralph Durand had 
been killed in a drunken brawl in a far 


THE CHRONICLE OF 'A CAMERA. 


35 

western mining tavern. I was free. I was 
only haunted after that with the fear that 
some one might accidentally find the docu- 
ment he had stolen, and attempt to black- 
mail me or publish the same. Now,” and the 
old man’s eyes expressed a deep anxiety, 
“ he reappears suddenly, mysteriously, he was 
not dead at all. He has returned to wreak 
his baleful hate on myself, and the only rel- 
ative I have in the wide world.” 

Le Britta was intensely interested in the 
strange, graphic recital, but he said, sternly : 

'‘And, Mr. Vernon, what is to prevent you 
from sending word to the nearest police 
official to arrest this knave who robbed and 
disgraced you ? ” 

“ No ! no ! ” uttered Vernon, quickly. " I 
dare not do that. Too well Ralph Durand 
understands his power, and he will wield it 
without mercy. He probably has the com- 
promising document I refer to, and he knows 
I would rather pay a fortune than have it pub- 
lished. 

“And that document?” insinuated Le 
Britta, curiously. 

“I dare not tell you. Gladys, too, must 
never know. Leave all that to me. I will 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


36 

find a means of securing- and destroying it, if 
I live. I will, later, negotiate with this vil- 
lain for its surrender for a money consider- 
ation, but just now there is a far more vital 
point that agonizes me and demands atten- 
tion.” 

“And that is ? ” queried Le Britta. 

“The will,” ejaculated Vernon, forcibly and 
excitedly. 

“ The one you made ” 

“Three years since. It has never been 
changed. It lies at the lawyer s, just as I 
left it.” 

“What!” exclaimed Le Britta, incredu- 
lously. “Surely, Mr. Vernon, you do not 
mean that you allowed that important docu- 
ment to remain as it was with that villain 
Ralph Durand as guardian to Miss Vernon.” 

“Yes, I know it was reprehensible, but, 
let me explain. For a time I was so worried 
over Durand, that I never thought of the will. 
Then Gladys came from boarding-school to 
brighten my life, and it again escaped my 
mind. One day I thought of it, and arranged 
to go and get it, destroy it, and make a new 
will, appointing a new guardian. That very 
day I read of Ralph Durand’s death. That 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


37 

relieved me of all dread. If he was dead, die 
mention of his guardianship was invalid. 
Naturally, Doctor Winston, a trusted friend, 
would become successor in trust. The will 
was made extra strong and with care, and 
blind that I was to the future, I never wor 
ried about it.” 

“ But now,” began Le Britta, and paused. 

“Now, to be plain, if I should die to- 
night,” — 

“Oh! uncle,” murmured Gladys, with a 
shudder, nestling closer to her beloved rela- 
tive. 

“Yes, if I should die to-night,” pursued 
Vernon, steadily, that man Durand would 
appear here to-morrow in all his insolence 
and villainy, your legally-appointed guardian 
— the guardian of my pure, innocent Gladys. 
Oh I it is terrible to contemplate. Worse 
than that, in my blind confidence in him I gave 
Durand, under the terms of the will, an abso- 
lute temporary control of everything, without 
bond or legal accountability. No I no ! I 
must take no risks. Not for a day, for a 
single hour. We must, indeed, act, or all is 
lost!” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


38 

‘‘ Then why not send to your lawyer for 
the will?” suggested Le Britta. 

“ It is in the city. A day’s journey there, 
a day’s journey back.” 

“Telegraph to have it destroyed.” 

“ In an important step like that they might 
hesitate. No, I have a plan that obviates it 
all.” 

“ May I ask what it is ? ” queried the pho- 
tographer. 

“ Yes, a new will.” 

“Ah!” 

“ I will send at once for the village lawyer, 
Mr. Munson. You will go for me, Mr. Le 
Britta ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Bring him at once. I will have him draw 
out a new will, giving all my property to 
Gladys, but appointing a new guardian. 
You and the lawyer can witness it. I will 
deposit it in a safe place. This will invali- 
date the old will. Then I can rest in peace, 
then I can defy this villain, who, I verily be- 
lieve, would murder me if he knew how affairs 
stood — his rude questioning of Gladys proves 
that.” 

“You are right, Mr. Vernon,” spoke Le 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


39 

Britta, comfortingly. “Your clear-headed 
plan removes all obstacles from your path. 
Where am I to go — what is the name of the 
village lawyer ? ” 

Mr. Vernon directed his guest, and urged 
dispatch. For a moment Le Britta busied 
himself adjusting his camera for future use. 
Then he announced his readiness to depart 
on his strange and important mission. 

“ I can never forget your great kindness 
to us, Mr. Le Britta,'’ spoke Mr. Vernon. 
“ Once the new will is made, I shall feel as 
if I have a new lease of life. Why, sir, what 
is the matter ?” 

Le Britta had started violently. He even 
uttered a quick ejaculation of surprise, almost 
alarm. 

About to speak, he turned his glance from 
the open window whither with fixed intensity 
it had just been directed, and evaded a re- 
ply, by saying, with forced calmness : 

“I am ready to depart on my errand, Mr. 
Vernon.” 

Every pulse was quickened, his nerves 
were at a high tension, however, as he left 
the room. 

He knew that to reveal the truth to the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


40 

invalid, would be to startle, alarm him, 
possibly imperil his life. 

For, peering in at the window through the 
thick vines that trellised it, he had seen the 
evil, malignant face of the pretended tramp, 
Gideon Vernon’s old time enemy — 

Ralph Durand ! 


Chapter V. 

TINCTURE OF IODINE.’' 

Miss Vernon accompanied the artist to the 
door. Her eyes expressed gratitude, her 
working features told of how she valued the 
kind friend so strangely come to her rescue 
in a time of direful need. 

Watch out closely for that villain Ehirand,’’ 
spoke Le Britta, seriously. “I shall not be 
gone long.” 

As soon as Gladys reentered the house, 
however, he glided stealthily around the cor- 
ner of the mansion. 

” It was no delusion,” he murmured. 
‘‘That man, the tramp, Ralph Durand, was 
certainly at the window. He may have over- 
heard every word of our conversation.” 

Le Britta was forced to act with caution. . 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 


41 

He dared not alarm Mr. Vernon by telling 
him of his latest startling discovery. 

He penetrated the shrubbery, he sought 
everywhere for a trace of the lurking scoun- 
drel, but none was vouchsafed him. 

“He has disappeared,” soliloquized Le 
Britta. “ He surely will attempt no villainy 
in broad daylight. I can only hasten on my 
mission, and, returning, aid this poor old 
m^n and his niece by advice and protection.” 

Le Britta hurried toward the distant village 
at a rapid gait. His thoughts kept pace with 
his swift walk. 

That earnest mind of his was deeply en- 
grossed in the case that a mere trifling acci- 
dent had made a seeming part of his life, a 
vivid chapter in the book of destiny. 

“ The camera supplies the clue,” he re- 
flected. It is like the affair where I photo- 
graphed the brain of a murdered man, and 
that strange evidence played a conspicious 
part in the trial that ensued. Ah ! the possi- 
bilities of my profession. It is artistic in the 
highest sense, yet material. It is the con- 
necting link between the past and the present. 
It illuminates that past, it sanctifies the pres- 
ent, it makes bright the future. A picture is 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


42 

fadeless. It gives to the mourner the sweet 
face of the cherished dead. It preserves the 
record of love, devotion and fidelity. In this 
case, it has played the detective, may the re- 
sults baffle villainy, and bring peace and hap- 
piness to those two imperiled souls.” 

Truly, indeed, a great art was that to 
which Jera Le Britta had devoted his life and 
enegies. 

He had made a study of photography. 
From the wavering steps of Daguerre to the 
proud, steady progress of a Sarony or a 
Drake, he had followed the advancement of 
the art, delving into its details, investigating 
its possibilities, experimenting, combining, 
improving, until the boundless scope was be- 
coming a field of never-failing delight and 
surprise to his keen, artistic senses. 

He had been a successful man in his labors 
thus far. Jera Le Britta had idolized his 
work. He saw in the art to which his efforts 
were directed, a purpose, a reward in mental 
and moral development and pleasures, that 
were beyond mere financial recompense. 
From such compensations, content and satis- 
faction had been wrought, and, with a pure 
ambition to excel and elevate his profession, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


4^ 

he knew that the hard-earned results would 
be more than the trivial praise awarded to a 
man who follows alone the “ fad ” of the hour, 
or labors only for folly or amusement. 

The highest, truest praise had often been 
his, but because he had added to the majesty 
of a beautiful art. He had begun with no 
special advantages, and in a small way. He 
had made steady progress, adding instru- 
ments and facilities to his studio, until he 
stood in the front rank of his profession. 
All this was the result of diligent study, con- 
stant application and artistic ideas. 

Such was the man who had found his heart 
responding to the call of distress, and al- 
though his business soon called him from a 
well-earned vacation, he resolved to devote 
time and energy to disentangle the skein of 
two harassed lives, feeling that his own 
would be the happier for the temporary sac- 
rifice. 

The glare of the city did not fascinate him 
— nature was his queen, his art, his shrine. 
Quick of touch, deft of perception, thinking 
far more of an honorable, aspiring career of 
usefulness than of simple worldly dross, he 
had engaged in the defense of a menaced 


44 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


couple of lonely, frightened people, with no 
thought of reward, but from a pure sense of 
chivalry and right. 

The complications of the plot in sight 
interested and yet startled him vaguely. He 
could scarcely understand such deep villainy, 
and yet he realized that the scoundrel, 
Durand, held the whip-hand over Gideon 
Vernon through the secret of his life, and 
menaced him powerfully andbalefully. Later 
he resolved to appeal to the invalid to boldly 
defy his persecutor, but first he plainly real- 
ized the all-important thing was the execution 
of a new will, rescinding and invalidating the 
document that made the sordid Durand the 
guardian of the fortune and happiness of 
beautiful Gladys Vernon. 

Le Britta reached the village in an hour. 
A second hour was lost in seeking the law- 
yer, Mr. Munson, for whom he had been 
sent, and the result a keen and perplexing 
dissapointment. He experienced no difficulty 
in locating the office of the attorney, but 
found only a clerk there. 

“ I wish to see Mr. Munson,” he spoke. 
‘'Mr. Vernon wishes to have him come to 
his villa at once.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


45 

''Mr. Munson is out,” answered the dap- 
per, smart-appearing subordinate. 

“ Where can I find him ? ” 

"He went to see Judge Elston about a 
case. The large house beyond the depot.” 

Arrived at the judicial residence, Le Britta 
found only a servant there. 

She stated that her employer and Lawyer 
Munston had taken a carriage, and had 
driven over to the next village to see about a 
case on trial there. 

" Do you know when they will return,” 
queried the protographer, anxiously. 

"No ; not before late to-night, though.” 

" I may as well return to the villa. There 
is no other lawyer in town,” reflected Le 
Britta. "Mr. Vernon will be anxious, and I 
fear that villain Durand. Why can he not 
write his own will, and secure another witness 
beside myself, from some neighboring resi- 
dence ? "Yes,” he decided; " I will return 
and suggest that course to him.” 

Le Britta, therefore, started back the way 
he had come. 

Just as he left the village, he paused for a 
moment, bent his ear, listened, and then 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


46 

smiled, despite the grave responsibilities that 
weighed upon his mind. 

A boy, mending a kite in a ba,ck yard, was 
singing at the top of his voice, and the strain 
he was laboring over was the chorus of a 
song that was a ruling favorite just then on 
the comedy stage. 

His youthful voice rang out clear and 
resonant as the piping cry of a red-bird — 

“ But there came upon the scene a bright photographer, 

There came upon the scene a bright photographer, 

There wasn’t a biographer. 

Nor e’en a lexicographer, 

Who did not write about this bright photographer. ” 

Le Britta smiled. Life had its humorous 
side, even where gravity was the rule of the 
hour, but the momentary influence of merri- 
ment soon gave way to the more somber 
duties of the time. 

He reached the grounds of Hawthorne 
villa somewhat wearied from his long tramp. 
He took a keen glance about the garden, the 
lurking Durand still in his thoughts ; then, 
being positive that he caught the murmur of 
human voices just beyond a gothic summer- 
house encased in foliage, he drew near to it, 
and peered through the interlacing vines. 

“ Hello ! What does this mean ? ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


47 

Well might the photographer stare in won- 
der, and repeat the startled ejaculation ! 

For it was not the plotful Durand that he 
saw, but, outlined plainly in the soft light of 
the structure, the fair form of the debonair 
Gladys, and, holding her snowy hand, and 
peering into her flushing, down-cast face, was 
a young man. 

“A lover — she has a lover!” murmured 
Le Britta. “ Here is a new complication. If 
he is only worthy of her” 

He had no thought of playing the eaves- 
dropper, but the scene held him momentarily 
captive. Honest brotherly interest in Miss 
Vernon caused him to study the face of her 
companion keenly. 

A reader of men, he looked pleased and 
satisfied as a second glance at the athletic 
young fellow convinced the photographer that 
he was one of nature’s noblemen. 

‘'No, dear Sydney, you must not think of 
seeing uncle just now,” Gladys was saying. 

"But I cannot endure this suspense. I 
cannot have him at emnity with me, and all 
for a foolish misunderstanding,” persisted her 
companion. ” We love each other, Gladys, do 
we not? We are pledged to one another. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


48 

Your uncle quarreled with me because I in- 
sisted on an early union. Hot-tempered, I 
was unreasonably haughty with him. The 
result is a coldness between us. No, dear 
heart ! I value your peace of mind and Mr. 
Vernon’s good opinion too deeply to be at 
odds with him. I shall try to see him some 
time soon — this evening, probably, and con- 
fess my willfulness, and smooth over our little 
inconsistencies of temper. I will have it so ! 
Ah ! he is calling you. There ! you must go. 
Good-by, my life’s love and light ! Until to- 
morrow, adieu ! ” 

There was the echo of a kiss, and Le Britta 
gained the front portals of the house just as 
Gladys, red as a peony, came around the 
garden path. 

“Oh! Mr. Le Britta, you have returned?*’ 
she murmured, confusedly. 

“Yes, Miss Vernon.” 

“And alone?” 

“The lawyer is out of town.” 

“ O dear I what will uncle say ? ” 

Le Britta explained his new plan. It 
seemed to please her, and she led the way 
into the house. 

“I like that young fellow she called, Syd- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


49 

ney,” reflected Le Britta. “I hope I may 
have an opportunity of helping to heal that 
breach in the sadly disorganized, domestic 
distress of this strange family.” 

He found that the invalid had caused his 
chair to be wheeled out on the porch, where 
the bright sunshine filtered through the cool, 
green leaves of overhanging boughs, and, 
seating himself by his side, Le Britta told 
him of the result of his visit to the village. 

Mr. Vernon was disappointed over the re- 
port at first, but Le Britta soon convinced 
him that they could arrange the affair of the 
will quite as well without legal assistance. 

“ I think I can dictate the proper form,” he 
said. “You can write it, Mr. Vernon, and it 
will need two witnesses. I will act as one.” 

“And the other?” murmured Vernon. 

“Some neighbor” - 

Mr. Vernon frowned, annoyedly. 

“Not my nearest neighbor,” he spoke, 
severely. “The young gentleman boarding 
there has taken occasion to resent my will, 
and ” 

An imploring look from Gladys silenced 
the old man on that score, but he added : 

“ We can find some one readily. Yes, yes ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 


50 

My dear friend, your suggestions are invalu- 
able. We will proceed to business at once.” 

Le Britta was glad to have the matter so 
satisfactorily adjusted. He got ready to help 
wheel the invalid’s chair back into his room 
from the porch, meantime congratulating 
himself that Durand had not appeared dur- 
ing his absence. 

He little dreamed it, but Durand was very 
near to him at that moment. 

There was a rustle among the vines near 
the open window of the now vacant sick- 
room, as the conversation on the porch ter- 
minated. 

. The next moment, an uncouth figure sprang 
over the window-sill and landed on the floor 
of the apartment beyond. 

It was Ralph Durand, the pretended tramp, 
only the disfiguring shade was torn from his 
face now, revealing all the dangerous bright 
ness of his evil-piercing glance. 

Those eyes swept the apartment in a quick 
flash. His lip was curled in scorn, his man- 
ner bold, insolent, aggressive. 

“So !” he murmured, “old Gideon Vernon 
seeks to outwit me, does he ? A man with 
three years’ experience among the rough 


THE CHROHICLE OF A CAMERA. 5 1 

miners of the west scarcely stops at the weak 
efforts of a dying- miser, a love-sick girl, and 
a philanthropic photographer. The game is 
in my hands, if Gideon Vernon dies. He 
shall die ! Fortunately I have overheard all 
their plans. But the new will ? My only 
hope is to still watch covertly. I cannot pre- 
vent its execution, but I can find and destroy 
it later. Once guardian of the beautiful 
Gladys, once I handle the Vernon fortune, I 
will make no mistake next time. Mercy ! 
the very thing ! ” 

With a prodigious start the man with the 
murderous heart and an eye of lurid, baleful 
fire sprang to the side of the table. 

There, outspread, was the medicine case. 
His glance, running over the phials and 
bottles it contained, rested, fascinated, on one 
of them. 

Tightly corked, it bore the label, Tincture 
of Iodine. 

The man’s eyes blazed with fervid delight 
as he read it. 

''Tincture of Iodine !” he ejaculated, with 
a hoarse, grating chuckle. “ What fortune ! 
Luckily I know the deft uses of that subtle 
acid. Ah ! Gideon Vernon, write your will, 


52 the chronicle of a camera. 

it will prove waste paper. Only a minute in 
which to act, to disappear. Then, unless they 
suspect, I am safe ! ” 

Durand glided to the mantel. There lay a 
tray of writing materials. Two tiny ink- 
bottles rested in oxidized silver clasps. He 
detached them, and poured their contents 
into the grate. Then, rubbing them care- 
fully clean on the sleeve of his ragged coat, 
he refilled them from the bottle of iodine. 

He glided through the window just as the 
door opened to admit Le Britta, Gladys, and 
Gideon Vernon into his invalid chair. 

Supreme satisfaction wreathed the sinister 
features of the plotter. 

Well might he smile, and hope, and wait, 
lurking at the open window. 

For, upon the substitution of the innocent 
acid for the ink hung the hopes, the fortune, 
the happiness of winsome, bright-hearted 
Gladys Vernon. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


53 


Chapter VI. 

THE WILL. 

Mr. Vernon was showing the results of 
over-excitement as Le Britta wheeled him 
into the room just vacated by Durand. 

That resolute eye of his, however, evi- 
denced that he was determined to carry out 
the project suggested by the photographer, 
and after sinking back among the pillows 
and resting for a moment or two, he said : 

'' Wheel the table nearer, Gladys, and 
bring the writing materials from the mantel.’^ 

The devoted girl obeyed him, with that 
instinctive gentleness and lack of bustle that 
evidenced long attention to the invalid. She 
placed pens and paper near to his hand, and 
brought as well the oxidized ink-wells, the 
contents of which had been so mysteriously 
juggled by Durand only a few minutes pre- 
vious. 

As for the pretended tramp himself, if he 
still lurked at the window, he did so too 
deftly to betray his near proximity. 

‘'Now then, Mr. Le Britta, begin,” spoke 
the old man. 

The photographer joggled his memory to 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


54 

recall the legal formula for a will, and Mr. 
Vernon began writing. 

‘‘What miserable ink!’' he ejaculated, 
suddenly and with irritation. “ It looks like 
iron-rust water. 

Gladys did not pay any attention to the 
remark, attributing it to failing eyesight and 
the usual crotchety, fault-finding temper of her 
sick relative. 

“ It makes a wretched blotch, looks like 
brown paint,” again uttered Vernon, wrath- 
fully, surveying with a frown of annoyance 
the first few words he had written on the 
white page before him. “Is there none bet- 
ter in the house, Gladys ? ” 

“I fear not, uncle,” murmured his niece, 
gently. 

“ I ' suppose I’ll have to make it do,” 
growled Vernon. “Proceed, Mr. Le Britta.” 

The photographer supplied the words of 
the form usually adopted in framing a will, 
and Mr. Vernon wrote in his bequests. He 
left all his property, real and personal, to his 
beloved niece, Gladys Vernon. When he 
referred to his moneyed possessions, he 
glanced at a cabinet in one corner of the 
apartment, seemed to be about to refer to 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


55 

something there, evidently changed his mind, 
and then concluded the instrument by ap- 
pointing Doctor Winston and Jera Le Britta 
his executors, and guardians of Gladys dur- 
ing her brief minority. 

Le Britta flushed gratefully at the compli- 
ment thus paid to him. It evidenced the 
confidence with which he had inspired the 
old man, and the regard which he felt for 
him. 

Always a heart-winner, with his unobtru- 
sive, earnest ways, the present acknowledge- 
ment of his devotion, while it placed an 
obligation upon him, still pleased him. 

“Thank goodness! that is off my mind,’^ 
exclaimed Vernon, with a great sigh of satis- 
faction and relief. 

“Not quite yet, uncle,” insinuated Gladys, 
gently. 

“ Eh ! you mean ? ” 

“ The witnesses.” 

“True, Mr. Le Britta, you will sign here.” 

“Not until the other witness is here,” 
interrupted the photographer. “The wit- 
nesses must sign each in the presence of 
the other.” 


THE CIIkONlCLE OF A CAMERA. 


S6 

“Uncle, the housekeeper has returned, 
will not her signature help us out ? ” 

“ She is not an interested party, she is not 
mentioned in the will,” spoke Le Britta. 
“ Yes, that will save us the trouble of sum- 
moning an outsider.” 

Gladys left the apartment, and returned 
with a pleasant-faced woman of about forty, 
a few minutes later. 

“Mrs. Darrell, Mr. Le Britta,” uttered 
Gladys, and the photographer bowed, and 
proceeded to the side of Mr. Vernon. 

He started slightly as his eyes rested 
closely on the written page. 

The writing was plain enough, but the ink 
used was wretched. Mr. Vernon had spoken 
truly. It looked as if written with the worst 
faded ink. About to speak of it Le Britta 
checked himself. Every little occurrence 
agitated the invalid, and what, after all, mat- 
tered obscure ink, so that it made a legible 
record. 

He signed his name as witness, the house- 
keeper followed his example arid withdrew 
from the apartment, and Mr. Vernon pushed 
the document across the table, as if to allow 
it to dry. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


57 

Gladys’ pretty face showed the relief of a 
difficult task accomplished. She was glad to 
get the affair off her uncle’s mind. Uncon- 
sciously, her nervous fingers rested on the 
camera a few feet away from the written 
page. 

'‘Take care, Miss Vernon!” laughed Le 
Britta, “ or you’ll be shooting off my loaded 
camera. The will, Mr. Vernon?” he con- 
tinued, interrogatively, as the invalid made a 
motion toward it. 

Vernon took up the document and folded 
it up. He placed it in an envelope, sealed it, 
and handed it to Gladys. 

“ Take it, my child,” he said. “ It will be 
safe in your keeping. Hide it where you 
can be sure to find it when I die.” 

“ Oh, I hope that will be a long, long 
time, dear uncle,” returned Gladys, sincerely. 

The invalid uttered a moan of weariness. 

“ I am very tired,” he spoke. “ Draw the 
shades, and I will try to sleep a little. 
Gladys, Mr. Le Britta must remain with us 
for a day or two.” 

“ I fear I will have to be getting back to 
business, Mr. Vernon,” demurred the pho- 
tographer. “ I have already extended my 


^8 the chronicle of a camera. 

vacation, and there is a convention of the 
Knights of Pythias, where they insist nobody 
can photograph their august assemblage ex- 
cept my poor self.” 

“At least remain until to-morrow,” urged 
Vernon. “ I wish to have a confidential in- 
terview with you when I am rested. I do 
not feel equal to the task, after the excite- 
ment of the day.” 

Le Britta ^could not very well refuse. 
Gladys darkened the sick-room, and led her 
guest to the broad outside porch, where he 
had the choice of swinging chairs or a ham- 
mock, brought him some books, and left him, 
to aid the housekeeper in providing for his 
comfort during his anticipated brief stay. 

From reading and resting, Le Britta fell to 
meditation over all the strange occurrences 
of the past few hours. 

Every element in the case under medita- 
tion was clearly outlined and comprehended 
in his quick mind, except one — the relation of 
the young man he had seen conversing with 
Gladys in the garden, her lover-like com- 
panion, whom she had called Sydney. 

Feeling naturally a warm interest in the 
fair, innocent creature whose happiness 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


59 

seemed menanced by a villain ; he hoped 
that a reconcilation would take place between 
the lover and Gladys’ irascible uncle ere he 
left. Then he could leave with the assurance 
that both had a protector, in case Durand 
attempted to trouble them further. 

“I do not see how Durand can bother 
Vernon now,” mused Le Britta, “except 
through the secret he holds. What a strange 
fate led me to participate in the ambitions, 
hopes and fears of these two people ! To- 
morrow, however, I must leave the field of 
romance, to return to the humdrum existence 
of practical labor. I may never see them 
again ; but the experience has enabled me to 
do a kind deed, and win new friends. My 
vacation has done me good. To-morrow I 
must welcome studio, home, friends and those 
I love so dearly.” 

Le Britta’s face glowed with affection and 
happiness, as he pictured the happy home- 
circle that knew him as father, husband, 
protector and guide — the ever-gentle wife, 
the two happy-hearted cherubs who made 
life worth living, the bright-eyed, intelligent 
young lady whom he had recently taken into 


6 o chronicle of a camera. 

his employ under his instructions, to aid in 
the more artistic portion of his work. 

The bustling, energetic, typical western 
town where he had settled down in business, 
was about fifty miles distant from Hawthorne 
villa. Here Le Britta had been located for 
several years, from a bare two hundred dol- 
lars having worked up in his business until 
he had amassed a generous competency, and 
at thirty years of age was beloved and re- 
spected by his fellow-townsmen — with the 
fame of his artistic excellence spread far and 
wide. He had learned the rudiments of his 
art in three of the larger western cities ; had 
known all the comforts and luxuries of wealth 
and refinement, but when reverses came to 
his parents, he had struck out manfully for 
himself, and now, having amassed a small 
fortune, he thought far more of the good it 
enabled him to do, and of his profession, than 
of the mere satisfaction of piling up riches. 

In all this struggle, his noble helpmate had 
been an aid, a comforter, an adviser, a kin- 
dred spirit. Perhaps the happiness she had 
brought to him warmed his heart with noble, 
generous sympathy for those less fortunate, 
whom he endeavored to place upon a like 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 6 1 

basis of right-doing and earnest adherence to 
the principles of success in life. She, like 
himself, was an artist, and with her critical 
taste to aid him, and the molding of the 
mind of his assistant, Maud Gordon, the 
atmosphere of his neat, beautiful studio was 
one of high art, rather than professional labor. 

“ With the morrow the old life of work, 
recompense, happiness,” murmured Le Britta ; 
and his eyes closing in a muse of peaceful 
contemplation, he slumbered before he was 
aware of the insidious approach of the drowsy 
god. 

It was nearly dusk when he awoke with a 
start. Something had aroused him with a 
shock. He sprang to his feet excitedly. 

'‘'What was it ! ” he ejaculated, alarmed. 
" Some one cried for help. There it is 
again ! 

He ran to the door leading out upon the 
porch. As he gained it, in accents of the 
wildest terror, through the gloomy, silent 
house rang out the wild, frantic tones of 
Gladys Vernon : 

" Help ! help ! help ! ’’ 

Yes, something had happened. In a flash, 
Jera Le Britta, with a vivid memory of Du- 


62 the chronicle of a camera, 

rand, the tramp, of the exciting incidents of 
the early afternoon, felt certain. ^ 

But what ? 

He was soon to know ! Something had, 
indeed, happened ! something strangely ex- 
citing, distressing, tragic ; and that terrified 
shriek, repeated, announced the fact. 

‘'Help! help! help!” 


Chapter VII. 

A TRAGIC HOUR. 

When Jera Le Britta and Gladys left Mr. 
Vernon to the solitude of the sick room, the 
latter sank back in his chair with a weary 
sigh. 

It was true that a great care had been re- 
moved from his mind by the settlement of 
the matter of the will, but his eyes were still 
haunted with worrying dread, and he shud- 
dered every time he thought of the man so 
feared — Ralph Durand. 

“I have blocked his game in one way — 
he can never become Gladys’ guardian, nor 
secure the control of my estate now,” reflected 
the invalid ; “ but he will doubtless attempt to 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


63 

persecute me in the matter of the old family 
secret. He is a desperate man and will try 
to blackmail me, to sell me the secret. Well, 
money can silence his lips. Then I shall 
know some peace again. Ah ! if I were not 
so weak. For Gladys’ sake I would like to 
live. This new friend, Le Britta — his coming 
has been a rare blessing to us.” 

Vernon’s mind became gradually quieted 
down, as he realized that he had a stanch, 
strong defender so near to him, and he dozed 
lightly. 

It was just getting dusk, and he was about 
to tap the little silver bell at his hand, the 
customary signal for his faithful nurse, 
Gladys, when he started, and with quicken- 
ing breath, fixed his eyes upon the window. 

The curtains had moved aside, and a vil- 
lainous faced peered in. It was instantly 
withdrawn, however, as Vernon barely sup- 
pressed a startled, agitated cry. 

'' Durand ! ” gasped the affrighted invalid. 
“ He still haunts the place. The will? No. 
That is safe with Gladys, but the money 
box ? Can that be his motive ? ” 

With infinite difficulty the invalid lifted 
himself to an upright position. He managed 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


64 

to drag the little medicine chest nearer to 
him. Then, with trembling fingers, he se- 
lected a bottle from the many that the case 
contained, and, by the dim light reading the 
inscription that it bore, he lifted it to his lips 
and drained its contents. 

“The doctor gave me that as a final 
exigency,” he murmured. “ I demanded a 
draught that would revive and give me 
strength as a last vital emergency. The re- 
action may be fatal, but I have work to do. 
Ralph Durand shall not prosper in his vil- 
lainy. I will balk his every design.” 

Already the powerful potion had begun its 
inspiriting work. The invalid seemed to be- 
come a new man all of a sudden. The mag- 
ical draught brought the color to his face, 
made his eyes sparkle, endowed him with 
remarkable strength. He arose from his 
chair, tottered to the cabinet in one corner of 
the apartment, unlocked it, drew forth a som- 
ber-looking metal box, and, clasping this 
tightly under his arm, he parted the draperies 
at one end of the room, and disappeared, 
with a last apprehensive glance at the win- 
dow, where the sinister face of the plotter he 




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P. 29.— He threw up his thin white hands and sank back, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 65 

SO dreaded had appeared a moment or two 
previous. 

One minute passed by — two — three. 
Then, gasping, tottering, white-faced Gideon 
Vernon re-entered the room, staggered to 
his^chair, sank into it exhausted, but the pre- 
cious box of treasure was no longer in his 
possession. 

“ Safe !” he almost chuckled. “A barren 
welcome will the sordid Durand secure from 
his sneaking visit to the villa. What is 
that ? 

The shadows of eventide were deepening, 
but a broad flare of light in the west outlined 
the window frame. A darker shadow crossed 
it. Assuming form aird substance, the hag- 
gard, venomous features of Durand were 
revealed. 

This time he crept over the sill and gained 
the floor of the sick-room. 

The invalid, motionless, watched him. 
The plotter directed a keen glance at the 
chair and its occupant, evidently adjudged 
Vernon to be asleep, and cautiously ap- 
proached the self-same cabinet that Vernon 
had denuded of its precious treasure less than 
five minutes before. 


66 the chronicle of a camera. 

He opened it, glared into it, felt in it. 
Then, a hoarse, grating cry of disappoint- 
ment and rage escaped his lips. 

“ Not there ! he hissed, fiercely, and yet 
I saw him put it there this very afternoon. 
Has all my patient watching been in vain ? 
No ! no ! I must, I will have at least that 
much of his miserly wealth, if I wrench the 
secret from his craven heart.” 

Durand recoiled as if dealt a blow, as, in 
mocking response to his vivid soliloquy, a 
low, rasping laugh rang derisively upon his 
ears. 

He stared in wonderment, and then, in 
baffled rage and hate at the chair, for its oc- 
cupant had moved, and he saw the keen, 
glittering eyes of the man whose peace of 
mind he sought to destroy, fixed contemptu- 
ously upon him. 

“ You — awake?” he gasped. 

“Yes, Ralph Durand, I have been watch- 
ing you,” spoke Vernon, in a marvelously 
calm tone of voice. “You are baffled, 
beaten ! ” 

With a cry of unutterable anger, the villain 
sprang to the invalid’s side. 

“ You know what I came for, Gideon Ver- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 6 / 

non ! ” he hissed, malignantly. “ Speak ! 
where is your treasure-box ? ” 

Find out ! ” 

• 'Be careful ! I am a desperate man.” 

“You cannot harm me.” 

“ Can I not ? I can choke the life from 
your body ! ” 

“And I can cry for help. What ! you 
dare.” 

“ The box ! where is it give it up, I say, 
or ” 

“Hel-p!” 

The word gurgled in the invalid’s throat. 
It died to a moan. Enraged beyond measure, 
Durand had dragged Vernon from his chair. 
Maddened with spite and discomfiture, he 
dealt him a heavy blow, and then, as he 
fancied that he saw a form at the door that 
led out upon the veranda, he sprang to the 
window, leaped through “it, and disappeared 
in the deepening darkness of the night. 

A form had appeared at the door in ques- 
tion, the figure of a young man. It was 
Sydney Vance, pretty Gladys Vernon’s lover. 
He had come as he told her he would in the 
interview in the garden, determined on sur- 
prising Mr. Vernon alone, resolved to atone 


68 the chronicle of a camera. 

for his past coldness, and heal the breach of 
enmity that existed between himself and the 
uncle of the woman he loved. 

Fatal moment ! He had not seen the fug-i- 
tive Durand, but, as he advanced, he made 
out the gasping, writhing form on the floor 
of the apartment. 

“ Mr. Vernon ! ” he ejaculated, alarmed 
and leaning over the invalid. “ You' have 
fallen ” 

No ! ” gasped Vernon. Struck down 
— murdered — dying! I have received my 
death-blow ” 

Your death-blow,’' repeated the petrified 
Sydney. 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” 

“You mean ” 

“ Ralph Durand ! Quick ! after him ! ap- 
prehend the assassin 1 There is not a 
moment to lose ” 

“ Which way did he go ? ” 

The prostrate man could not speak. A 
sudden rigidity seized his limbs, and he only 
pointed spasmodically toward the open win- 
dow, and fell back, the hue of death in his 
aged face. 

It was at that moment that the door of the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


69 

room connecting with the hall opened, and 
Gladys Vernon, bearing a lighted lamp, 
crossed its threshold. 

Behind her, bearing a tea-tray, came the 
housekeeper. Sydney saw Gladys, but, in- 
tent on following out Vernon’s orders, he 
disappeared. 

A frightful scream escaped Gladys’ lips as 
she took in all the bewildering and terrifying 
scene — the prostrate uncle gasping in the 
agony of death on the floor, her flying 
lover. 

The housekeeper, alarmed, pressed close 
after her. 

“Uncle! uncle! oh! what does this 
mean ? ” she shrieked, as she noticed a lurid 
mark on his brow. 

“Murder — that villain,” gasped Vernon. 

“And he, Sydney, here ! ” 

“Yes, yes. I was struck — down. Syd- 
ney Vance — he” 

The dying man meant to say that Sydney 
was pursuing the real assassin. Oh, fatal 
weakness! To the ears of the appalled 
housekeeper, his last incoherent utterance 
ascribed the crime of the moment to Gladys 
Vernon^s lover ! 


70 the chronicle of a camera. 

“Uncle, dear uncle — help! help! help!’’ 

Twice-repeated, the frantic utterance rang 
out, for, with a heart-rending moan, just 
then, Gideon Vernon sank back — dead ! 

It was this blood-curdling cry that had 
aroused Jera Le Britta, and he dashed into 
the room a minute later, to witness the most 
exciting tableau of all his varied existence. 


Chapter VIII. 

DOOMED 1 

Le Britta was too staggered to speak, as 
he looked down at the lifeless form of old 
Gideon Vernon, and surveyed the distracted 
Gladys as she folded his motionless form in 
her frantic clasp. 

The housekeeper, white as a sheet, seemed 
stricken dumb with terror. The torn curtain 
at the window, the rifled cabinet, the over- 
turned invalid chair, the mark on the dead 
man’s brow, the general disorder of the apart- 
ment, all spoke of crime, deadly assault, rob- 
bery, murder! 

The incoherent ravings of the frantic 
Gladys thrilled the startled and appalled 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. J \ 

photographer to sudden horror. She wailed 
out her grief at her uncle’s death, vainly call- 
ing upon him to return to life, praying for the 
punishment of his cruel assassin. She 
moaned that she had seen Sydney Vance at 
the window — she recalled Vernon’s last dy- 
ing allusion to him, and in sheer bewilder- 
ment Le Britta turned to the housekeeper. 

‘‘What does she say — she saw her lover, 
Sydney Vance, here?” 

“ Yes,” gasped the affrighted woman, “she 
saw him fly.” 

“And Mr. Vernon” 

“Accused him of murdering him.” 

“ Oh, impossible ! ” gasped the incredulous 
Le Britta. “But murder has been done. 
The assassin cannot have gone far. Quick, 
Mrs. Darrell ! remove that distracted creature 
from this room, quiet her, restrain her, or I 
fear for her mind. I will scour the shrubbery 
and summon help. Yes, he is dead,” mur- 
mured Le Britta in a broken tone of voice, as 
he gazed at the white, colorless face of Ver- 
non. 

He sprang through the window, and for 
half an hour threaded every maze in the gar- 
den and its vicinity. All in vain ! If Sydney 


T^E CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


72 

Vance had been there, he had mysteriously 
disappeared. As to Durand, whose handi- 
work in the crime of the hour Le Britta was 
quick to suspect, he had vanished as effect- 
ually as though the earth had opened and 
swallowed him up. 

He hurried to the nearest house and an- 
nounced the tragedy of the hour to its start- 
led inmates. Soon a messenger was speed- 
ing on horseback for the village, with orders 
to secure a physician. 

He arrived an hour later, as fast as breath- 
less haste could bring him. Neighbors had 
crowded the house in the meantime. Like 
wildfire the news spread that old Gideon 
Vernon had been murdered and robbed. 

The house was a scene of pitiful commo- 
tion, but amid it all, feeling the grave respon- 
sibility that rested upon him, Jera Le Britta 
kept his head, and tried to act calmly. 

Gladys, immersed in grief and emotion, had 
been removed to her own room. The house- 
keeper had been warned by Le Britta not to 
mention what she had heard concerning 
Sydney Vance. In his own mind Le Britta had 
formed a reasonable theory as to the crime. 
Its perpetrator, beyond doubt, to his way of 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


' 73 

thinking, was the villain Durand. Sydney 
had come to make his peace with Vernon, 
had appeared in time to be mistaken for the 
murderer, had certainly gone to pursue the 
real- assassin ; but why did he not come back 
to the house of grief to explain it all? 

The doctor pronounced Gideon Vernon 
beyond the reach of all earthly ministrations, 
and Gladys in a dangerously hysterical con- 
dition. He administered a soothing draught 
to the distracted girl, and left directions with 
Le Britta to send for him if she got worse. 
Then Le Britta sent the housekeeper to at- 
tend to her young mistress, and it was not 
until nearly midnight that he sat down in the 
apartment adjoining the sick room to keep 
his solitary, watch over the dead, the under- 
taker having arrived from the village, and 
prepared the body for burial the following 
day. 

It had been a hard day for him, and that 
day had scored a most distressing termina- 
tion for the fair young girl he had hoped to 
aid in her troubles. 

Tap ! tap ! 

Le Britta arose as he heard some one 
knock gently at the outside porch door. He 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


74 

opened it. A man, roughly dressed but 
honest-faced, stepped across the threshold. 

“Who are you?” demanded Le Britta, 
suspiciously. 

“An officer from the village. I heard 
about the case when the doctor was sent for, 
and came soon after.” 

“ I did not see you,” remarked Le Britta, a 
trifle uneasily, hoping to evade official in- 
vestigation of the case until he had con- 
versed with Gladys, and learned of the 
whereabouts of Sydney Vance. 

“No, that’s true. I always work in the 
dark on a dubious case of this kind.” 

“ Dubious ? ” 

“ Exactly. Wasn't it murder ? ” demanded 
the officer, sharply. 

* “ I think -it was.” 

“Think? You know it! Come, sir I I 
understand your motive in trying to shield a 
person presumably innocent, but it’s no use.” 

“Then” 

“The murderer is, of course, Sydney 
Vance.” 

Le Britta’s heart sank. He was certain 
that this could not be — that young Vance 
was only the victim of circumstances, but 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


75 

how to prove that fact, once the hue and cry 
was raised over the person last seen in the 
room with the murdered man. 

“Why do you think that? ” he faltered. 

“I don’t think it, I know it,” proclaimed 
the officer, stanchly. 

“ Why ? ” 

“The housekeepers story” 

“ What ! she has been talking ?” ejaculated 
Le Britta, in dismay. 

“ I made her, and her story proves beyond 
any doubt that there was a quarrel between 
Vernon and young Vance, that Miss Vernon 
saw Vance fly from the room, that the last 
words of the murdered man charged Vance 
with the crime.” 

“ But, the evidence” 

“Is plain. The testimony of Miss Vernon 
alone,” announced the officer, in tones of 
pitiless, professional precision, “unsupported 
by any other evidence, will send Sydney 
Vance to the gallows !” 

There was a heart-rending moan in the hall- 
way without, and then a fall. 

And, springing to the door, with conster- 
nation and alarm, Le Britta saw Gladys Ver- 




76 the chronicle oe a camera. 

non lying senseless on the rich axminster 
carpet. 

She had stolen from her room tO speak to 
him ; she had lingered at that half-open door. 

She had learned all. She knew that her 
lover, her innocent lover, was charged with 
hideous,, baleful crime, and her words had 
doomed him ! 


Chapter IX. 

BLANK ! 

The funeral was over, the last sad rites had 
been performed, dust unto dust had been 
returned, and after a stormy existence of 
power, pride and pain, old Gideon Vernon 
had gone the way of all flesh. 

There were very few at the ceremony — 
the attendant physician. Doctor Winston ; 
the village lawyer, several of the neighbors 
only. Vernon had lived almost the life of a 
recluse, and had never been the man to make 
many friends. 

Gladys had not gone with the carriages to 
the cemetery. When Le Britta had found 
her outside the door of the room in which he 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


77 

had held that startling interview with the vil- 
lage police officer, it was to convey her to 
her own apartment again, where she revived 
only to go through the most poignant hys- 
terical grief and despair. 

The doctor, again summoned, ordered 
positively that she be kept under the. influ- 
ence of sedatives until after the funeral, and 
that the housekeeper should keep close watch 
and ward over her afflicted young mistress. 

Le Britta was nearly worn out with sleep- 
lessness and care. He felt that the gloom of 
the hour would abide with him for a long 
time to come, and he was glad when the body 
of the murdered man was consigned to its 
tomb. The inquest, the commotion, the pry- 
ing, watchful officer ; all this jarred on his 
finer sensibilities, and he breathed a sigh of 
infinite relief as he returned to the house 
from the cemetery, to observe Doctor Win- 
ston, Mr. Mnnson, the lawyer, seated in the 
library, looking grave and thoughtful. 

At the door outside, too, Le Britta met the 
officer. 

“Have you found any trace of the sup- 
posed assassin ? ” inquired the photographer. 

“ None,” responded the other. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


78 

“ Is not that singular ? ” 

Not at all, seeing that a box filled with 
money is missing. Sydney Vance had good 
reason to fly and hide with that treasure.” 

“ You will persist that he is the criminal ? ” 

“The coroners jury decided so on my 
plain statement. What would a court of 
justice say with the added testimony of Miss 
Vernon ? ” 

What ? indeed ! Le Britta’s heart sank at 
the thought. Should young Vance ever re- 
turn, it would be to fill a felon’s cell. Per- 
haps, realizing all this, and knowing that 
Gladys’ welfare was menaced by the real 
murderer, he was determined to conceal him- 
self, to preserve his liberty, rather than face 
an overwhelming, crushing accusation he 
could not refute. 

In the library. Doctor Winston and Mr. 
Munson bowed gravely, as Le Britta entered 
the room, and the latter remarked : 

“ I do not know what this afflicted family 
would have done without you, Mr. Le Britta.” 

The photographer bowed deprecatingly. 

“ Circumstances forced my slight services,” 
he said, unaffectedly. 

“True, but they have been valuable ones. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 


79 

Doctor Winston has just had a conversation 
with poor Gladys. He tells me there is a 
new will, and much more about a dreaded 
enemy of Mr. Vernon, that induces me to 
take immediate steps, as his local legal adviser, 
to secure to her the rights the will gives her.’' 

Eminently proper,” nodded the doctor. 

Yes, I think so,” asserted Le Britta. 

Gladys says she will be here in a few 
moments, weak as she is, realizing the neces- 
sity of following out the wishes of her dead 
uncle, anxious not to detain you from your 
business, and desirous of leaving this gloomy 
house to make her home with your fellow- 
guardian, Doctor Winston here.” 

Le Britta’s face brightened, as he realized 
that under the charge of the benevolent old 
physician and his wife, Gladys would find a 
safe and pleasant home. 

He hastened to open the door, as a faint 
tapping sounded upon its outside portals. 

Gladys Vernon, pale, ^nd with eyes droop- 
ing from long grief, entered the apartment. 

She pressed Le Britta’s proffered hand 
with grateful emotion, and then, half-hiding 
her face in her hand, sat like one performing 
a painful duty near the table. 


8o the chronicle of a camera. 

We will only go through the mere for- 
malities of examining the will, Miss Vernon,’' 
spoke Mr. Munson, in a kindly tone of voice. 

We will read it, verify the signatures, and I 
will take it and file it in the court, to make it 
safe from any interference of interested out- 
siders. You understand ? ” 

Gladys murmured a faint affirmative. 

Doctor Winston will convey you at once 
to his home. The housekeeper can retain 
charge here until we decide what to do with 
the mansion.” 

“ Dispose of it, close it up ! ” breathed 
Gladys, in a fear-filled, shuddering tone. 
” I could never live again beneath the roof 
where my beloved uncle met his doom, where 

my heart broke ” 

She paused, amid hot, blinding tears. 

“ If your thoughts are of the accused mur- 
derer,” interrupted Le Britta, “take courage. 
Miss Vernon ! You know, and I know, that 
Sydney Vance is innocent ; you know, and I 
know, the real assassin. Fear not ! The 
truth is mighty, and it shall prevail ! All that 
justice can do to trace this terrible crime to 
its real perpetrator, will be done. 

“Try not to distress yourself over all that 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA 8 I 

just now,” spoke the lawyer. Your uncle 
made a new will, Miss Vernon.” 

'' Yes — last night.” 

Where is it ? ” 

“ He gave it to me for safe-keeping.” 

Gladys drew the same enveloped and 
sealed document from her pocket that Le 
Britta had seen her uncle give her the day 
previous. 

It has not left your possession since it 
was delivered to you ? ” demanded Mr. Mun- 
son. 

Oh ! no.” 

“This is the same document — you can 
swear to it.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ These are merely formal questions,” pro- 
ceeded the lawyer. “We all know the con- 
tents of the will, but I will read it over for 
form’s sake.” 

Rip — rip — rip. The somber silence of 
the room was broken only by Gladys’ soft 
crying, and the tearing open of the end of 
the envelope. 

The lawyer drew out the single document 
it contained. 

He opened it, glanced at it, stared at it, 

6 


82 the chronicle of a camera. 

glared at it, arose to his feet, and uttered a 
quick ejaculation. 

‘'Why! what’s the matter, Munson?” 
demanded the doctor, startled at his com- 
panion’s sudden excitement of manner. 

"This paper” 

"The will?” 

" It is no will 1 ” 

" Why’^ 

" There is some mistake.” 

" Mistake ? ” murmured Le Britta, not un- 
prepared for strange surprises under that 
strange roof, after all the extraordinary oc- 
currences that had signalized his brief sojourn 
there. 

"Yes, this is no will. Look!” 

The lawyer held out the paper. 

His own face was perturbed, the doctor 
stared bewilderingly, Le Britta’s eyes glowed 
with dark suspicion, Gladys gasped affright- 
edly. 

For the page, one side and reverse, front 
and back, was — blank ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


83 


Chapter X. 

THE plotter’s VICTORY. 

Blank ! ” ejaculated the doctor, dubi- 
ously. 

“ Blank ! ” murmured Gladys, with incredu- 
lity. 

Blank,” assented Mr. Munson, turning 
the paper in his hand over and over. “ See 
for yourselves ! ” 

“Impossible!” gasped Gladys, startled 
out of her grief by the remarkable develop- 
ment of the moment. “Uncle gave it to me, 
I saw it written, sealed. The envelope has 
never left my possession since.” 

Blank wonderment and consternation were 
depicted on every face, save that of Le 
Britta. 

He had risen to his feet. His brows knit, 
his lips set sternly, he stood like one study- 
ing out a difficult problem. 

“ Please allow me to examine that docu- 
ment, Mr. Munson,” he spoke at last. 

There was an ominous something in his 
manner that silenced the others, and en- 
chained their attention, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


84 

With the eye of an analyst he was scan- 
ning the blank sheet of paper. 

'‘A slight discoloration. All form blended 
into an indistinguishable mass,” he half mur- 
mured. “ The fiber unbroken, a slight scent 
of acid. Gentlemen,” to the engrossed and 
watching doctor and lawyer, ‘Trickery has 
been at work here, jugglery, plotting ! ” 

“You also think it is the same paper upon 
which Mr. Vernon drew out his will?” 
queried the lawyer. 

“ I know it.” 

“ But, it is blank ? ” 

“It was not blank last evening.” 

“ Then ” 

“Wait here a moment. I think I under- 
stand what has occurred.” 

Le Britta left the apartment, and went 
straight to the now vacant sick-room. 

He took up the oxidized ink-stank that had 
played a part in the writing of the will, and 
that self-same part of a correspondence equip- 
ment which the reader will remember had 
been handled by the lurking Ralph Durand. 

He returned to the library with it in his 
hand, placed it on the table, dipped a piece 
of paper into the contents of the ink wells, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


85 

smelled, it, tasted it, dried it at the lamp, and 
then sat down with a discomposed yet sat- 
isfied face. 

“ It is as I feared," he murmured. 

“What do you mean " demanded the 
doctor, on the keen edge of vivid suspense. 

“ Trickery ! " 

“ Explain yourself.’^ 

“ I will. I noticed yesterday, when Mr. 
Vernon had completed writing the will, that 
the ink looked faded. You remember. Miss 
Vernon, your uncle complained of it himself." 

“Yes, and I attributed it to his failing eye- 
sight," murmured Gladys. 

“And I feared . disturbing and annoying 
him in his nervous condition," said Le Britta. 
“The ink he used was no ink, it was not 
even a stain. Some one had substituted for 
the real ink an acid, a volatile chemical — 
none other than tincture of iodine." 

“ But it wrote," began the lawyer. 

“Yes, it resembles faded brown ink, and 
so deceived us. It does not even penetrate 
the fibers of the paper, and within twenty- 
four hours it vanishes, evaporates, leaving no 
trace. I am sorry, but we have been tricked. 


86 the chronicle of a camera. 

The will is no will at all — it is mere waste 
paper ! 

Gladys looked frightfully startled. 

Can we not prove that he did write a new 
will,” she began. 

“No,” dissented the lawyer. “ Unless you 
can produce a new will, written, signed, wit- 
nessed, the old will is valid.” 

“ And that man, who probably connived at 
all this,” wailed Gladys, sudderingly, “Ralph 
Durand, is my legal guardian.” 

“ Oh ! that cannot be ! ” gasped Le Britta, 
realizing the full import of Gladys’ words. 

“Yes, it is true. Gentlemen, pardon me 
for playing the eavesdropper, but I am keenly 
alive to my own rights and interests. I ap- 
pear to put in my claim as the conservator of 
dead Gideon Vernon’s estate, and the legal 
guardian of that young lady — Gladys Ver- 
non ! ” 

The blow had fallen — the denouement had 
come ! The door had opened, and a new 
figure had intruded upon the scene. 

At him Gladys Vernon stared aghast. It 
was Ralph Durand! 

But no longer the ragged, uncouth tramp ! 
Ari*ayed in immaculate broadcloth, clean- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. gy 

shaven, a perfect fashion-plate of propriety, 
the marplot of her existence stood revealed. 

The wicked eyes flashed triumphantly, the 
bold lips wore a mocking sneer of victory. 

''You look annoyed,” he spoke. "You 
need not be. I come here in entire harmony 
with the rulings of law and right. This 
young lady and her picture- making friend 
may rave about destroyed wills, murdered 
guardians and all that, but, under the provi- 
sion of the one and only legal will of dead 
Gideon Vernon, I now and here take charge 
of his estate, and of his niece until she at- 
tains her majority.” 

" Lead me from the presence of that 
man ! ” 

Slowly rising to her feet, Gladys, half- 
fainting, spoke the words to Le Britta. 

" Wait a moment ! ” cried Durand, in 
sharp, imperious accent. "You know the 
plain state of the case. It will be the worse 
for those who attempt to dislodge or under- 
mine me. I am master here. I will brook 
no rebellion. Miss Vernon, I will be a friend 
to you if you allow me, but, strictly, im- 
partially, I shall act the guardian, as directed 


88 the chronicle of a camera. 

by the will of your uncle, now locked up in 
the strong boxes of his city lawyers.” 

Dumfounded, the lawyer and the doctor 
arose to leave the room, as Le Britta returned 
from leading Gladys to the stairs. 

The insolent Durand directed a last sneer- 
ing word to Le Britta, as the latter accom- 
panied them from the apartment. 

We can dispense with your friendly serv- 
ices after this,” he said. “ I will have your 
traps packed for you within an hour.” 

Le Britta bit his lip, but did not reply. 
He was too overpowered to realize it all just 
then. 

For two hours, outside the mansion 
grounds, the lawyer, the doctor and the pho- 
tographer discussed the situation. 

“ That scoundrel, Ralph Durand, substi- 
tuted the acid for the ink, he probably mur- 
dered Gideon Vernon, he also possibly knows 
of the fate of Sydney Vance, but what can 
we do on mere suspicion,” spoke the lawyer. 
“ Gentlemen, we must have patience. Doc- 
tor, you must feign to gracefully accept the 
situation, so as to be near Gladys. Mr. Le 
Britta, you must leave for home at once.” 

”And Miss Vernon must be left to the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. gg 

mercy of that monster ! cried Le Britta, 
excitedly. 

“ He dare not harm her. Trust me. He 
shall go through the farce of -guardianship, 
but, before another day is passed, a skillful 
detective shall be ferreting out all this mys- 
tery. You shall hear from me regularly. 
We are not done with this knave and assas- 
sin yet.’' 

Le Britta accompanied his two friends to 
the village. He tortured his mind all that 
afternoon for some plan to defeat, to dislodge 
Ralph Durand. At last, feeling that he could 
do no more to aid the imperiled Gladys Ver- 
non, that the doctor and lawyer would watch 
her interests, that the worst that Durand 
could do would be to pilfer from the estate for 
the year that intervened until she had at- 
tained her majority, he walked back to Haw- 
thorne villa to say good-by to Gladys. 

At its portals, the housekeeper met him, 
with a white, scared face. 

She held a folded note between her fingers, 
which she extended tremulously. 

“ Oh ! Mr. Le Britta ! ” she gasped. Miss 
Gladys ” 

“She is worse ? she” 


90 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


“ No, sir, but ” 

Mercy! Gone! fled!” ejaculated the 
petrified Le Britta, as he scanned the note. 

Yes, hours since. The brief note, thank- 
ing- him for his past kindness, told that 
Gladys Vernon, the orphan’s prayer for help 
and guidance on her lips, had fled forever 
from the power of Ralph Durand — had gone 
forth, friendless, homeless, a beggar, to battle 
alone with the cold, cruel world, beyond the 
gates of the once-peaceful haven she had 
called home ! 


Chapter XI. 

HOME ! 

'‘So ends the most exciting chapter of my 
life ! ” 

Jera Le Britta spoke the words, two days 
after the occurrence of the startling events 
depicted in the preceding chapter. 

Once more the tourist, he had paused to 
view a scene that marked the end of his 
journey and his brief vacation, at the same 
time. 

From a pretty wooded vale he scanned the 
landscape, bounded on one side by a thriving 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. g i 

little city, the buildings of which gleamed 
white and majestic in the bright sunlight. 

No wonder . his eye sparkled! There, a 
few years previous, he had come as a 
stranger. Now, a hundred cordial friends 
would grasp his hand, and give him a hearty 
home welcome. 

There, his art, his affections, his whole life 
were centered. No wonder he seemed to 
emerge from cloudland and gloom into gold- 
en sunshine and happiness, for wife, children 
friends were encompassed within the limits 
of the town upon which he now gazed. 

He loved the little city for its beauty, for 
its people, for the success it had awarded his 
patient efforts for appreciation. As in a 
dream, he saw it, a quarter of a century past, 
a mere struggling settlement ; he saw it, in 
its prosperous present, a beautiful city of 
ideal homes and temples of commerce, and, 
with the eye prophetic, too, he saw a grander 
city grow from this nucleus of enterprise ; 
he pictured vast industrial palaces, majestic 
marts of trade, mammoth public edifices, 
until it had become a queen among the cities 
of the plain — a haven of wealth, prosperity 
and peace. 


92 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Here he must again take up life, but he 
could not forget the past. Ah, no ! That 
sympathetic heart of his went back to Haw- 
thorne villa in sad memory. He knew that 
his nature would not allow him to forget, or 
to remain idle. As soon as he got his busi- 
ness affairs in shape he would return to see 
Doctor Winston and Lawyer Munson, and 
learn what new developments had occurred 
in the case of the fugitive orphan niece of 
murdered Gideon Vernon. 

Gladys had fled, and the most persistent 
search had revealed not the slightest trace of 
her whereabouts. 

In her brief letter to Le Britta, she had 
thanked him for his kindness, but she had 
stated that she could not remain under the 
same roof with the assassin of her beloved 
uncle, she could not linger, to be confronted 
with her innocent lover, Sydney Vance, and 
have her involuntary testimony send him to 
the gallows. She would go to some distant 
place, she told him, and would work in 
obscurity until she was eighteen years of age. 
Then, her own mistress, she would return, to 
devote life, energies and fortune to hunting 
down the real criminal, and clear her lover 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


93 

from the hideous charge circumstances had 
placed against his fair name. 

At Hawthorne villa, secure in his insolence, 
the scoundrelly Ralph Durand defied lawyer 
and friends of the missing Gladys. He was 
comfortably ensconced in a well-feathered 
nest. He had his scheme to work, wealth 
was at his disposal, but — with his knowledge 
of how surely evil brings its own eventual 
retribution, Jera Le Britta realized that his 
hour of downfall would yet surely come ! 

He had packed up his camera, and had not 
taken a picture since leaving Hawthorne 
villa. As, now, he^ neared the neat, pretty 
house that held all that he regarded as dear- 
est on earth, he tried to put aside his cares 
concerning Gladys Vernon, to drive away, 
temporarily, the conviction that he was yet to 
become again interested in her destiny, as 
the loving arms of his beautiful wife enfolded 
him, and two charming tots clambered to his 
knee. 

Smiling faces and hearty handclasps greet- 
ed him as, later, he started for his studio. It 
was located on the main street of the town, 
and chosen with a view to central location, 
accessibility and rare requisites of light and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


94 

convenience. It seemed like getting back 
among old friends to enter the elegant re- 
ception-room, furnished throughout with 
neatness and taste, and containing a great 
variety of superb specimens of the photo- 
graphic art. The attractive frames and 
mountings were a study in themselves. 
Here, the eye feasted upon the rarely-beauti- 
ful ; here, were ideals of feminine grace and 
attractiveness — infancy, youth, maturity, old 
age, of the north land, of the south land, 
Greek, American, Italian, French, Anglo- 
Saxon, German, in profile and expression of 
features — all were represented. 

La Britta passed through this gallery of 
art, crowded with specimens of his own deft 
handiwork, and passed into the operating 
room of the studio. 

Costly cameras, and all the accessories of 
the profession, showed in practical profusion 
here, and engaged in placing the last artistic 
finishing touches to an expensive picture was 
a pretty, graceful young lady — the photog- 
rapher’s valued assistant Maud. Her sym- 
pathetic face broke into a glad smile of wel- 
come, as she recognized her employer. An 
artistic workman, graduated from the best 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


95 

schools of photography, her work was always 
so realistically true, that she knew that dur- 
ing his brief absence she had followed out 
the instructions faithfully he had given her, 
and would win only the highest praise from 
his lips, for her devoted watch and ward of 
his interests. 

“ We expected you two days since,” said 
Maud. 

‘^Yes, but I was delayed unexpectedly,” 
replied Le Britta. Letters, orders. Here is 
work for some days to come.” 

''And here a visitor for some hours to 
come, I fear,” exclaimed Maud, laughingly, 
as a light footstep sounded in the adjoining 
apartment. " He has been here inquiring 
for you every day, as if you were a long-lost 
son.” 

" Dick ! ” ejaculated Le Britta, with a 
bright smile, extending his hand to a rather 
tall, handsome, professional-looking man, 
who crossed the threshold of the operating- 
room at just that moment, and in whom he 
recognized his dearest friend. Dr. Richard 
Milton. 

"It’s a sight for sore eyes to see you back 
again,” said the young physician, heartily. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


96 

Letters and orders were forgotten in the 
chit-chat of two friends, long parted, for the 
next hour. Le Britta had requested his 
charming assistant to open his tourist camera 
and put the exposures in the developing bath, 
and an hour later, as Doctor Milton was giv- 
ing the details of a difficult surgical operation 
he had just completed, Miss Maud appeared 
at the door of the room where the two 
friends sat, with half a dozen glass plates in 
her hand. 

“Ah ! developed them ? ” smiled Le Britta. 
“ ril show you some of the views I took on 
my tramp, Dick. Here is a storm effect 
here is a waterfall view, and here ” 

Jera Le Britta paused as if dealt a sudden 
blow, and stared like one abruptly bereft of 
reason at the plate in his fingers. 

Like a flash, recalling all the eventful 
scenes of Hawthorne villa, with a shock, a 
single glance sent the blood to his heart, and 
checked immediate utterance. 

For, in that single, startled, stunned look 
at the little glass plate, Jera Le Britta had 
made the most extraordinary discovery of all 
his eventful life ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


97 


Chapter XII. 

THE UNEXPECTED. 

Photography is a wonderful art. In a 
creative sense, it outstrips any other kindred 
science with the rapidity and accuracy of its 
operation ; in a preservative sense, it enables 
us to perpetuate a fac-simile of the most 
wonderful crumbling antique specimen of 
architecture. True to its focus as an arrow 
to the target, it can always be depended 
upon, when a skilled hand manipulates the 
camera. 

All this Jera Le Britta had thought of a 
thousand times. It flashed through his mind 
now as, staring at the glass negative in his 
hand, he could scarcely credit the evidence 
of his senses. Combined with those medita- 
tions, however, a new phase of the art had 
been vividly presented — the unexpected in 
the photographic. 

For the unexpected confronted him. A 
problem and a surprise greeted his vision. 
A careful man, a methodical man, no wonder 
that he was deeply stirred ! 

In the first place, the plate before him bore 
outlines marked, vivid, distinct, peculiar. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


98 

Furthermore, he had never pressed the 
button ” to take that picture ! 

Lastly, the impress on the plate revived all 
the past regarding his strange adventures at 
Hawthorne villa with a rush that overpowered 
him. 

First wonder, then speculation, then a 
dawning, thrilling triumph illumined his eyes. 

His companion, startled to silence and curi- 
osity by his strange pose, studied the varying 
expression of Le Britta’s intelligent face with 
a questioning look. 

But Dr. Richard Milton’s companion was 
too engrossed in his penetrating survey of 
the little glass plate to note extraneous occur- 
rences or distracting influences. 

“Wonderful !” he gasped at last, and his 
quick eyes sought out every line and shadow 
on the negative. 

“ Providential ! ” he whispered to himself, 
almost reverently, a moment later. 

Yes, truly wonderful, truly providential was 
the manifestation of the moment. 

For the plate bore a representation of half 
the table where he had placed his camera the 
day of his interview with Gideon Vernon, the 
dead master of Hawthorne villa. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


99 

It did something more — it revealed a pile 
of books, the medicine case of the recluse, 
and, propped up across it carelessly, the last 
valid will and testament of the uncle of miss- 
ing Gladys Vernon. 

“Yes, there it was, line for line, word for 
word, signatures of witnesses, seals, all ! 
Plain as day, accurate as the original instru- 
ment itself, the glass plate bore the chronicle 
of the precious document that baffled all the 
evil schemes and pretenses of wicked Ralph 
Durand, that had been written with tincture 
of iodine, and, fading out as the schemer had 
planned, had later presented only a blank, 
worthless sheet of paper, leaving the plotter 
master of the situation, and censor of inno- 
cent, imperiled Gladys Vernon’s life. 

What did it n\ean, how came that picture 
in the camera? Of a surety, Jera La Britta 
had not touched slide, button or shutter since 
the hour that he took the picture of pretty 
Gladys in the rain-sparkling arbor, where the 
evil, sinister face of Ralph Durand had ap- 
peared, except to prepare that same picture 
in a dark room with his ruby lamp at the 
Vernon mansion. 

His keen memory, however, earful of de- 


lOO 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


tails, Stored well with mental history of the 
near past, supplied the missing link of augury 
and conjecture. 

He had placed his camera on the table in 
the sick-room, after showing the invalid, 
Gideon Vernon, the picture that had revealed 
to the latter the identity of a dreaded enemy. 
There it had remained during their long in- 
terview. He recalled the signing of the will, 
he remembered how Gideon Vernon had 
spread the document out for the ink to dry 
ere he folded it up and delivered it into the 
keeping of Gladys Vernon, and he remem- 
bered, too, how Gladys, anxious and 
agitated over all her uncle’s excitement, had 
nervously handled the camera, clicking it un- 
consciously, until he had laughingly warned 
her that “ it was loaded ! ” 

She must, then, have touched the button 
at that moment of careless fumbling with the 
apparatus. By a strange caprice of circum- 
stances, the will lay just within focus of the 
instrument. Click ! snap ! the faithful little 
monitor of photography had done its duty, 
swiftly and completely. The will had been 
photographed / 

The camera had been undisturbed until 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


lOI 


Le Britta’s arrival home. The energetic 
Maud had lost no time in carrying out his 
instructions to develop the pictures it con- 
tained. This one had been among them, 
and here he had come home with a heavy 
heart for the complications surrounding poor, 
fugitive Gladys Vernon, while in his pos- 
session he unwittingly carried a formidable 
weapon against the man who had scored a 
mighty triumph as the king of knaves and 
prince of plotters. 

Well might a thrilling gladness succeed to 
marveling wonder ! As Jera Le Britta readized 
all that his discovery meant, he forgot that he 
had come home to attend to business duties, to 
rest and work ere he again saw the friends of 
Gladys Vernon. He was no longer the pho- 
tographer, the friend, the father^ the husband, 
the employer — every chivalrous and gener- 
ous instinct in his nature aroused, he was the 
champion of lovely distress, the rival of plot- 
ting cruelty, the shrewd, energetic detective, 
deeply interested in a complicated case, and 
eager and anxious to wield the new-found 
power that flashed over his mind like a vivid 
light, gleaming amid the darkness and gloom 
of a cheerless, hopeless night. 


102 't'HE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 

“ I have found the clue ! ” 

He sprang to his feet waving the glass 
plate dramatically. 

Dr. Richard Milton arose simultaneously. 
He stared in wonder at his friend. 

I don’t know whether bromide is strong 
enough,” he remarked. 

“ Eh ! ” exclaimed Le Britta, with a start, 
aroused to the reality of his surroundings. 
“ What are you talking about ?” 

I say that bromide may not be strong 
enough.” 

'‘For what?” queried Le Britta, blankly. 

“For your nerves. You are either bidding 
good-by to your senses, or preparing for 
your debut on the dramatic stage. I say, 
Jera, old friend ! what’s the matter with you, 
anyway ? For fully ten minutes you have 
sat staring at that bit of glass, and rolling 
your eyes, and muttering, and frowning, and 
smiling. Allow me to feel your pulse.” 

“ Oh, I see ! ” smiled Le Britta. “ Pardon, 
doctor, but I have been shocked, stunned, 
amazed. If you were in my place ” 

“ Put me there, then,” interrupted the 
doctor, keenly. 

“ Eh ! how ? ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


\OX 


“ By telling me what is on your mind.” 

Good ! I should have done so soon, any- 
way. Yes, your advice will help me. Sit 
down. I want to tell you a story.” 

Rapidly, succinctly, Jera. Le Britta detailed 
every event of his experience since that 
mysterious day when he had first met the 
Vernons. 

Wonder-eyed, interested, excited, the sym- 
pathetic, impressionable doctor listened. 
Such a narrative had never greeted his ears 
before. Unconsciously an orator and an 
actor, the accompanying gestures of Le 
Britta, the dramatic intonation of a man 
deeply concerned in the case under discus- 
sion, rendered the recital as emotional and 
effective as a thrilling scene in a drama acted 
out upon the mimic stage. 

When his friend came to the discovery of 
the hour, the doctor could scarcely contain 
himself for excitement. 

“Jera!” he cried. “It seems incredible. 
And you call yourself a photographer ? 
Why, man I you’d make your fortune as a 
detective ! ” 

“ If my efforts can baffle that scoundrel, 
Ralph Durand, and restore to poor Gladys 


rilE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


104 

Vernon her wronged lover, Sydney Vance, I 
shall be content to be considered what you 
like,” responded Le Britta, seriously. Now 
then, you have heard the story.” 

“And I have listened to every word of it 
with the deepest interest and wonder.” 

“ Then weigh them carefully.” 

“ I have done so.” 

“And your advice ?” 

Doctor Milton shook his . head slowly but 
resolutely. 

“I advise you ? ” he murmured, depVecat- 
ingly. “No, no, old friend! A man who 
can do what you have done in this case, 
needs no adviser, your duty is plain.” 

“You mean ? ” 

“To go straight back to Hawthorne villa.” 

“ With the plate ? ” 

“ With the plate, that proves all you can 
swear to about the will. Why 1 with such 
formidable evidence, what court in Christen- 
dom would doubt that Gideon Vernon in- 
tended to dispossess that Durand of his 
power as guardian ? ” 

“ But is the photograph of a will valid — is 
its evidence irrefutable ? ” 

“ I hardly know. Suffice it, that it would 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


^os 

baffle Durand. Produced in court, with your 
story, it would place Durand under such deep 
suspicion, as the person who juggled with the 
original document, that he would either be 
divested of his fraudulently-obtained author- 
ity, or placed under the strict surveillance of 
justice. Le Britta, we need you here. The 
town needs you. A man like you, with your 
genial, encouraging ways, brisk, business 
facilities, and rapid, turning over of capital, is 
no unimportant element in its commercial 
economy. Your friends miss you, you belong 
to us, and to your family, but that poor girl, 
Gladys, needs a champion. At one stroke, 
you may be able to frighten Durand away. 
Go back to Hawthorne villa, I say, complete 
your chivalrous record by a last good deed. 
I needn’t tell you that. A man of your kind 
heart and noble impulses could not rest if you 
thought any sacrifice would benefit the perse- 
cuted and orphaned. Go ! I feel sanguine 
you have solved the problem of that innocent 
young girl’s life, in the discovery of the 
photograph of the last will and testament of 
Gideon Vernon.” 

Jera Le Britta assumed a serious, deter- 
mined expression. He was wearied. He 


io6 the chronicle of a camera. 

longed for the rest, the comfort, the con- 
tentment of home, but duty seemed to point 
the way back the via dolorosa he had come. 

He regarded the pile of orders and unfin- 
ished pictures on a table near by with a sigh, 
he thought of the discomforts of a journey 
with no pleasing anticipations. 

“ I will go,” he said, simply. “ I will see 
what power lies in this precious little glass 
negative to pave the way to justice, and 
right a great wrong. 


Chapter XIII. 

GOOD-BY ! 

Jera Le Britta went to a cabinet as he 
expressed his new determination, and pro- 
ceeded to secure the glass negative safely. 
That little article of furniture had every 
requisite ready at hand to pack photographs 
and their concomitants for preservation or 
transmission through the mails, and he soon 
had the precious plate provided with safe 
coverings, secure from risk of mar or break- 
age, and encased in a neat envelope. 

The operation, methodical and neat, was 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


107 

characteristic of the man. He was care- 
ful in small things. That was the key-note 
of his success. “A time and a place for 
everything,” was his motto, and, excited and 
anxious as he was, he made sure of the safety 
of the negative, transferred it to his pocket, 
and closed the cabinet. 

It contained an elegant line of stationery, 
cards, envelopes and the like, all bearing his 
name in script, a bold, striking signature, 
formed in a soft shade of red embossed let- 
ters. The material of the stationery, too, 
was of the finest grade. The cards were 
bought to wear and look well — no ragged 
edges, no split filaments. The outer envel- 
opes for holding photographs were of rice or 
linen paper, giving a tone and finish to every- 
thing that left his establishment. 

He announced to Miss Maud his intention 
of leaving home at once again to be gone for 
several days. 

The dainty artiste made a wry grimace of 
mock despair. Her deft, delicate fingers 
never shirked work, but she knew how 
weighty were the responsibilities of the busi- 
ness, how harmonious and smooth were its 


I08 CItRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

operations with the firm, self-reliant, guiding 
hand of her employer to rule and navigate. 

“I am sorry, but I imagine you can get 
through with the orders while am gone,” 
spoke Le Britta, kindly. 

“ I will try,” murmured Maud, “and do my 
best.” 

“You always do that, Maud. We must 
deliver all orders on time.” 

“But which first? There are some photo- 
graphs for that man who brought his whole 
family here. You remember — the laborer 
with eleven children, a mother-in-law and 
four nephews. His can wait, can they not ? 
I can have them ready on time, only he is 
anxious to have them before time.” 

“ Try and accommodate him, Maud.” 

“ But he ordered a cheaper grade of pict- 
ures.” 

“Never mind; they may be 'cheaper’ in 
price, and he may not be able to pay as 
well as a millionaire. All the more reason 
for doing him a good piece of work. We 
will make him happy by giving him a group 
that will speak with life. We do no ‘cheap ’ 
work here. I make the honest fellow a pres- 
ent of half the pictures. No picture, for rich 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


109 

or poor, must be slighted. All must be of 
even artistic grade. He complimented our 
skill and reputation by coming to us. Even 
if he is not a profitable customer, let us de- 
light in doing a little charity work, and yet 
make him feel that he is not receiving such. 
He is anxious for his pictures ; finish them 
first of all.” 

Le Britta had touched upon a point that 
was almost a hobby with him — cheap pict- 
ures. He never made such. He had seen 
too many photographs of an inferior quality, 
to wish to emulate his mediocre competitors. 
Cheap work, he well knew, meant hurried 
work ; hurried for the deluded sitter, hurried 
for the artist, thereby disturbing his delicate 
equilibrium of touch, and degrading high 
artistic possibilities. Proper care was always 
a necessary adjunct to proper adjustment of 
focus. There must be no neglect in posing 
and lighting, no inferior chemicals employed, 
no rude retouching, no careless printing. 
Art educates, refines, cultivates and develops 
the mind, and careful adherence to its dic- 
tates infuses capacity, ability, faithfulness. 
Those who desire the best results in art 
must expect to offer reasonable compensation 


no 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


for its exercise. Le Britta realized all this. 
He formulated his ideas on' this basis. 
He refused, as an artist of capability, intelli- 
gence and skill, with large capital invested 
and with a proud reputation to sustain, to 
meet the competition of the obscure itinerant 
with nothing of these, and make ‘‘cheap” 
pictures. In the photographic art, invention 
and discovery had reduced the cost of pro- 
duction until all could enjoy the best results 
at a moderate price, and when he did make 
happy some honest wage-earner with small 
charges, it was a voluntary charity of his 
generous heart. 

There were mournful faces at the pretty 
home when Le Britta announced the urgency 
of an immediate departure, but the soft, 
gentle glance of his true and loving wife to 
whom he told all his eventful story, satisfied 
him more than ever that he was on the 
straight path of duty. 

“Go, dear Jera,” she urged, earnestly. 
“Always doing good, ever forgetting self! 
Poor girl ! Do not lose any time in trying 
to restore her to her friends, in bringing to 
time that horrible Durand ; and, Jera, if you 
should find her, tell the poor child that she 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. i i i 

shall have a welcome here always. How my 
heart pities her in her orphaned loneliness 
and peril ! Oh, Jera ! when I think of how 
happy we are, safe, comfortable, surrounded 
by friends, I long to give the poor, innocent 
dove a home among us.” 

‘‘Papa s’ant do !” announced the baby of 
the family, doughtily striving to lock a door 
against his father’s departure. 

“Oh, dear! more waiting and watching,” 
pouted the eldest, a bright-faced girl of eight. 
“ Papa, it’s real mean of you.” 

But a royal “trot horse to market” for 
number one, and the promise of a present 
for domineering number two, enabled Le 
Britta to escape with hair uncrumpled, fol- 
lowed by the serious, loving “ Heaven speed 
you 1 ” from the lips of the most beautiful of 
all the beautiful women he had ever met. 

His little hand-bag packed with a few 
necessaries for a two day’s journey, Le Britta 
stopped on his way at the office of his friend, 
Doctor Milton. 

“ Well, all ready } ” queried the disciple of 
Esculapius. 

“Yes. I shall take the train in half an 
hour.” 


1 12 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


'' And return ?” 

“To-morrow, I hope.” 

“What is your plan ? ” 

“I hardly know yet. I shall see Mr. Ver- 
non’s lawyer and present my evidence, and 
be guided by his advice. There’s a knock at 
the door, doctor.” 

Doctor Milton opened the door at the 
summons. A bare-footed, excited urchin 
stood there, his great goggle-eyes rolling — 
breathless, incoherent. 

“ Doc-tor ! Come at onct ! ” 

“ Come where?” demanded Doctor Milton. 

“To the grug Store. Man run away and 
wagon got hurt — no, I mean wagon ran 
away and man got hurt. Sent for you right 
off!” 

“ I’ll be there in a minute. I must bid you 
good-by, Jera.” 

Doctor Milton caught up his surgical case 
and put on his hat. Le Britta accompanied 
him to the street. 

“Some case of trifling injury — man 
stunned or ankle sprained, I suppose,” spoke 
the doctor. 

Le Britta went his way. If he had only 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. \ \ 3 

known ! but we never know in this busy, 
changing, fateful world of ours. 

If he had only known, the barefooted 
urchin was a messenger of fate. 

For, had Jera Le Britta accompanied Dr. 
Richard Milton to his new patient, the 
course of many lives would have been affected 
then and there. 

Destiny plays strange caprices in the plot 
and counterplot of our lives, and the man just 
injured by a runaway, was fated to be art 
important element in the mystery and mis- 
eries surrounding the fugitive Gladys Ver- 
non. 

All unconscious of this, however, thinking 
only of the clue he possessed and the duty 
imperative of the hour, Jera Le Britta went 
his way. 


Chapter XIV. 

ONLY A TRAMP. 

Dr. Richard Milton, when he left his 
friend Le Britta, proceeded rapidly in the 
direction of the ‘"grug” store. 

His kind, sympathetic face grew more seri- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


II4 

ous as he realized that his services might 
soon be enlisted in a matter of life or death. 

Clean-shaven, the contour of his face re- 
sembling some of those profiles one sees on 
old Roman coins, a physiognomist would 
have ascribed a remarkably even tempera- 
ment to this young man. 

Not that he lacked fire, only the profession 
he had undertaken was one the deep serious- 
ness of which he fully realized. Long com- 
panionship with Le Britta had fostered the 
naturally noble sentiments of his mind, and 
he had developed into a kind, just and honor- 
able man. 

There was a crowd around the door of the 
drug store, excited men, women and children 
were jostlhig one another and striving to 
peer in through the windows, while the pro- 
prietor of the establishment held the door 
shut and ordered the people away. 

Here comes the doctor ! was the simul- 
taneous announcement of half-a-dozen voices, 
and room was made for Doctor Milton to 
reach the door. 

Inside, lying upon the marble-tiled floor, 
his head supported by a cushion, lay a man, 
motionless and bleeding. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


II5 

A glance told Doctor Milton that he be- 
longed to that genus known as tramp. His 
frowsy head of hair, unkempt beard, worn- 
out shoes, dusty, travel-stained and tattered 
attire, evidenced the fact that Doctor Milton 
would have to add another charity-patient to 
the long list. 

“ Hurt pretty badly, doctor, I guess/’ 
whispered the druggist. 

How did it occur?” queried the doctor, 
mechanically,' kneeling by the side of his 
patient. 

'' Runaway horse and wagon. Ca^ught 
him on the dead run, and knocked him — 
twenty feet, I should think.” 

Doctor Milton felt the pulse of the insen- 
sible man ; he lifted one eyelid with his 
thumb and forefinger; he pressed the tips 
of his fingers until the blood showed under 
the nails. Then he shook his head slowly. 

No temporary treatment here,” he mur- 
mured, convincedly. ''The man’s insensibil- 
ity is not the result of a nervous shock. 
Something n\ore serious, I fear. Let us see 
as to his injuries.” 

There was a slight scalp-wound, but beside 
it was an immense protuberance. As the 


I 1 6 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

doctor lifted the man’s arm, however, he 
started despite himself. 

From elbow to wrist, one arm had the flesh 
scraped off as clean as if a knife had shaved 
it. For all the world it resembled a spring 
sapling, with a section of the fresh green 
bark peeled clear to the white wooden core. 

“ This man needs long, careful attention,” 
he remarked, arising to his feet. “ Where 
can he be taken ? ” 

'‘You can have my back room, if you like,” 
remarked the druggist. 

“No, it must be to some permanent, com- 
fortable place. Have you a stretcher ? ” 

“'We can improvise one.” 

“ Please do so.” 

Doctor Milton surveyed his patient 
thoughtfully. He was “only a tramp ! ” only 
one of those poor, homeless fellows who wan- 
der from town to town, and from city to city, 
migratory as the birds, and like the birds, in- 
cluded in that blessed benison — “Your 
Father cares for the sparrows of the field, and 
will He not care for you ? ” 

With the practiced eye of a surgeon he 
readily recognized the emergency of the case. 
A fellow-being’s life, however worthless, de- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, i i 7 

pended on immediate active treatment. In a 
flash he decided what to do, and followed the 
dictates of his great humane heart. 

The druggist and his subordinates soon 
brought in a rudely-improvised litter. Upon 
it, following the doctor’s direction, and 
aided by him, they placed the unconscious 
man. He never stirred or spoke. 

Get four strong men to carry him,” spoke 
Milton. 

“Where to, doctor?’' queried the drug- 
gist. 

“To my office.” 

“ Surely,” ejaculated the man, with a start, 
“ you will not burden yourself with his care ! ” 

“ Will any one else ? ” 

“ I fear not.” 

“Then I cannot see him die. Gently, 
boys ! ” as ready helpers were summoned from 
the throng outside to the side of the litter. 

They bore their inanimate burden from 
the store and down the street. The doctor 
leading the way, they reached his office. 

Doctor -Milton prepared a couch for him, 
and upon it he was placed. 

Alone with his patient, he became the 
stern, practical surgeon once more. 


1 1 8 THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

For nearly an hour he worked at forc- 
ing medicine between his lips, hypodermically 
injecting stimulants, applying bandages to 
the great protuberance at the base of the 
brain. 

“Temperature, pulse and respiration bet- 
ter,” murmured the doctor. “ Now for the 
arm.” 

He took up his scalpel and scissors twice, 
and laid them aside again. He became 
thoughtful, serious. 

“ It cannot be done,’' he soliloquized. 
“It is either a well arm, a useful arm in time, 
or a crippled, torturing limb. If it is worth 
doing at all, it is worth doing well. I will 
not touch it till I have considered. Here is 
an experiment worthy the skill of a Macken- 
zie or a Gunn.” 

Doctor Milton simply applied a loose, wet 
cloth to the scraped, distended arm. 

“ If the man recovers consciousness com- 
pletely in an hour, the injury to the nerve 
centers are only temporary,” he murmured. 
“ If not, he will die. Ah! he moves.” 

Yes, with a low moan of pain, the patient 
stirred slightly. Then he opened his eyes. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. * i 1 9 

Tve got to get back there ! ” fell distinctly 
on the dead silence of the room. 

Doctor Milton hurriedly approached the 
couch. 

'' Get where, my poor fellow ? ” he queried, 
gently. 

“To — to that place.” 

“ What place ? ” 

“ Hawthorne villa.” 

“ Great goodness ! ” ejaculated the doctor, 
recoiling involuntarily. “ What in the world 
does this mean ?” 

His mind full of Le Britta's vivid story, the 
mention of the home of Gladys Vernon 
startled him indescribably. 

He was deeply amazed, excited, curious, 
too, but, as he gazed keenly at the tramp, he 
saw that although semi-consciousness had 
supervened, his mind was still groping, and 
he spoke only automatically upon some 
theme powerfully present in his mind. 

“ The papers are all right ! ” 

Those were the next words of the sufferer. 

“ I had them written by different persons. 
Couldn’t trust one person, couldn’t trust one 
person, couldn’t trust one person ! ” 

The monologue died in a low murmur. 


I 20 T'HE chronicle Of A CAMERA. 

The eyes closed, the man’s body resumed its 
rigidity. 

Of a sudden, however, as the absorbed 
Doctor Milton gazed, the invalid gave a ter- 
rible start. The first conscious recognition 
of his injuries, of pain, seemed to possess his 
senses, for he drew up his injured arm in a 
wincing, tortured way, his eyes glared wildly, 
and he choked out : 

“I remember! I was hurt. Oh! send 
for a doctor. I can’t die, I wont die, with 
that secret mine ! I’ll pay a hundred, a 
thousand dollars, only save me. I’m rich ! 
rich ! thousands are mine, if I can only get 
the strength to crawl back to Hawthorne 
villa. The secret, the papers ! oh ! — hh — h 
— h ! ” 

Back he fell again, this time like a dead 
weight. 

Mystified, startled, Dr. Richard Milton 
regarded him wonderingly. Then, as a 
sudden flush stole over the patient’s face, and 
his breathing changed, the doctor examined 
him more closely. 

“What did he mean?” he ejaculated. 
“ Le Britta, more shrewd than I, would trace 
a wonderful significance in those incoherent 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. i 2 I 

words. This man will not tell for a time, I 
am thinking- ! Fever ? He’s in for a long 
siege of it. Well, I’ll save him if it is possi- 
ble.” 

The man did not revive again that night, 
nor the next day, nor the one following. 

When partial consciousness did come, it 
was to engulf the homeless sufferer in the 
embrace of a hot, wasting fever, and his wild 
utterances bore no further reference to his 
boasted wealth or Hawthorne villa. 

Doctor Milton grew restive under the con- 
stant care he required, but he was not the 
man to ignore a duty once assumed. 

“ Only a tramp ! ” he adjudged the 
wretched sufferer ; but, although he little 
dreamed it, he was '' entertaining an angel 
unawares ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

FACE TO FACE. 

Jera Le Britta reached the bustling little 
town where the lawyer of the Vernon estates 
resided late that same evening, but went to 
the village hotel and deferred calling upon 
him till the following day. 


122 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Exhausted nature played the photographer 
a sad trick, however. He slept beyond the 
anticipated hour, and with no little trepidation 
observed that it was after' ten o’clock the fol- 
lowing morning when he awoke. 

Refreshed, however, by his long recuper- 
ating sleep, and fortified by a hearty break- 
fast, Le Britta started forth, his head clear, 
his energies revivified, his courage dauntless, 
to enter the lists against the ex-tramp and 
schemer, who sat like some bird of ill omen 
brooding over the fortunes of Hawthorne 
villa. 

Disappointment baffled his efforts to find 
the lawyer. The latter was at court at an 
adjoining village. Le Britta decided to go 
there after him. Then, on second reflection, 
he determined to await his return, and then, 
a sudden idea coming to his mind, he started 
with resolute face and a confident heart in 
the direction of Hawthorne villa itself. 

“Yes, I’ll risk it!” he soliloquized. “It 
can do no possible harm. It may be my final 
interview with Ralph Durand, and as I am 
in no wise afraid of him, I will give him a bit 
of wholesome advice, if nothing more. I 
hold a weapon in my hand which may 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 123 

frighten, unman him, drive him away. The 
effect of the* photograph upon him will be a 
guide as to our future movements.” 

Cogitating over this course, Le Britta 
reached the villa. He paused at its gate to 
regard several persons in the garden. 

One was the redoubtable Ralph Durand 
himself. He was arrayed in flashy gar- 
ments, and his flushed, brutal face, early as 
was the hour, showed unmistakable evi- 
dences of intoxication. He was ordering 
two servants to do some work about the 
garden. 

“Rip up those beastly roses!” he com- 
manded, “and pull away those hideous vines 
from the veranda. We want no sentimental 
gew-gaws of shrubbery about here.” 

Le Britta’s eyes flashed with indignation, 
as he realized the power of this uncultured 
boor to destroy Gladys’ beloved flowers. 
Calming himself, however, for the impending 
interview he was determined to precipitate, 
he opened the gate and walked up the 
graveled path. 

“ Hello I ” ejaculated Durand, staring inso- 
lently at his visitor ; “you here ! ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


124 

“As you see,” responded Le Britta, 
qui^dy. 

Durand’s brow grew dark and forbidding 
as a thunder-cloud. 

“I thought I ordered you to remain off 
these premises,” he continued, in an insult- 
ing, aggressive tone of voice. 

“ You did.” 

“ You’d better obey me ! ” 

“ I have business here, sir.” 

“You have what ? ” 

“Business — urgent, important, personal.” 

“ Out with it then ! ” 

“ Not here. I wish to see you alone.” 

“Oh! that’s it?” muttered Durand. “I 
don’t see what ‘ business ’ you can have with 
me ? I’m king here now. The law can deal 
with that meddler Vance, and as to Gladys, 
if you’ve come to intercede for her, its no 
use. I’m her legally-appointed guardian. 
Let her come back and behave herself, and its 
all right.” 

“ I have come on behalf of neither of the 
persons you name,” spoke Le Britta. “As to 
Gladys, she will never, I am assured, return 
while you are here. As to Sydney Vance — 
no one seems to know where he is.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


125 

'' Don’t, eh ? ” sneered Durand, coarsely. 

'' No, unless it is yourself.” 

The shot told. C)urand changed color. 
He clenched his hands angrily, then, repress- 
ing the natural antagonistic instincts of his 
quarrelsome nature, he said, insolently : 

“ Well, come in, and get through with this 
‘business’ of yours as quickly as you can. 
Your room is better than your company in 
my house, I can tell you that ! ” 

Jera Le Britta subdued the rising anger 
and indignation he felt with a master mind. 
He realized the uselessness of heeding or re- 
taliating for the insults heaped upon him by 
his half-intoxicated host. He had come to 
fulfill a mission, and he comprehended that 
Durand’s condition was favorable to the 
hoped-for outcome of the interview he pro- 
jected. 

Durand led the way to the room where Le 
Britta had first seen dead Gideon Vernon. 
He threw himself into an arm-chair, and 
frowned at his visitor. 

“ Go ahead ! ” he ordered. 

“I have come to see you,” announced Le 
Britta — “to warn you.” 

“To what?” scowled Durand. 


126 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


‘"To warn you,” repeated Le Britta, sol- 
emnly. 

“ Of what ? ” 

Of your peril, of the future. Ralph 
Durand, I shall waste no words upon you. I 
know that you substituted an evaporating 
acid for ink, and reduced Gideon Vernon’s 
last lawful will and testament to worthless- 
ness.” 

The hardened knave in the luxurious arm- 
chair had the audacity to chuckle at this bold 
statement. 

“Good!” he jeered, disdainfully. “Go 
on.” 

“You murdered Gideon Vernon” 

Durand started violently. 

“You know what has become of Sidney 
Vance. You are plotting to wreck this 
estate for your own personal benefit during 
the term of your guardianship.” 

“Anything else?” queried Durand, plac- 
idly. 

“ Is that not enough ? Are you human, 
to sit there, heartless, sneering, merciless, 
while the rightful owner of this home is a 
wanderer and an outcast ! ” cried Le Britta, 
indignantly. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


127 

Do you want my answer in plain words ?” 
ground out Durand. 

'‘Yes, if you are capable of telling the 
truth.” 

“I have the power to order you to be 
ejected from this house like the insolent med- 
dler and intruder you are,” spoke Durand, 
angrily, “ but I am getting used to what peo- 
ple say about me. All I have to say is com- 
prised in two little words.” 

“ And they are ? ” 

“ Prove it ! ” 

Aye, prove it ! Jera Le Britta recognized 
the strong citadel of non-committal and defi- 
ance behind which this heartless knave had 
entrenched himself. He did not show his 
chagrin, however. He arose from his chair, 
advanced to the table, leaned one hand im- 
pressively upon it, and fixing an unwavering 
glance straight upon the face of his sneering 
companion, he said, gravely and resolutely : 

“ I will ! ” 

Ralph Durand stirred uneasily. His 
glance shifted. He knew that he had a deter- 
mined man to deal with. 

“ Section by section, fact by fact, I will ! ” 
continued Le Britta, energetically. "I tell 


128 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

you, Ralph Durand, that, ere a month is 
passed, sure as the sun shines, I will know 
the truth of all your plottings.” 

Then why do you come here ! ” snorted 
Durand, incredulously. 

“To prove my words. First and foremost, 
there is the will. Your scheming destroyed 
it — your deft knowledge of subtle chemicals 
enabled you to retain your power as guardian 
of Gladys Vernon.” 

“ Under a valid, existing will, yes,” replied 
Durand. 

“ Which the new will recalled and vitiated. 
That will is destroyed, but” 

Le Britta paused. He wished his antag- 
onist to feel the full power of his disclosures. 
The latter could not conceal his interest and 
suspense. His lips twitched nervously, and 
the vivid emotion he experienced began to 
undermine the false strength given him by 
the liquor of which he had partaken. 

“That will exists,” concluded Jera Le 
Britta. “ I can swear, Gladys Vernon, the 
witness, the old housekeeper, can swear that 
such a will was made. A court of justice 
would believe us. What, then, would you 



1>. 67,— Durand dragged Vernon from Ins chair. 





THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


129 

say, if I told you that, despite your machina- 
tions, that will still exists ? ” 

“I don’t believe it!” gasped the now 
thoroughly startled and affrighted Ralph 
Durand, his features turning ashen in their 
hue. 

“ I speak the truth. Word for word I can 
read it to you. Line for line I can show it to 
you.” 

The plotter began to tremble. He had 
dabbled in chemicals successfully. Suppose 
this man, LoBritta, had exceeded his skill } 

A thousand possible complications ran riot 
in his brain. Had they restored the faded 
writing ? Had he blundered somewhere along 
the line ? 

I don’t believe it ! ” he repeated, his voice 
a hoarse, faint monotone. “ Y ou have a copy 
— the counterpart of the will itself? Bah ! 
you seek to frighten me. You have it ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Pitiless, convincing as the stroke of doom 
the answer sounded. 

“ You can show it to me ? ” 

I can.” 

“ Where is it ? 

With a mighty sweep of his hand, Jera 


£30 the ' CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

Le Britta brought if down across his breast- 
pocket, and uttered the single ominous word : 
Here ! ” 


Chapter XVI. 

THE CHRONICLE OF THE CAMERA. 

Here ! '' 

The word revealed volumes. A plain- 
spoken, straightforward man, in every-day 
life, Jera Le Britta could inject force, expres- 
sion and emotion into a word, when his heart 
was in its utterance. 

In the present instance, he realized that its 
effect might mean the salvation of fugitive 
Gladys Vernon ; he comprehended that once 
to unman the scheming knave before him, to 
throw him off his guard, to hold him even for 
one quivering moment of time at his mercy, 
meant confession, weakness, the possession 
of those vital facts only outlined now in his 
mind as vague conjectures. 

Slowly Le Britta unbuttoned his dress coat. 
As his well-formed chest and sinewy hands 
exerted themselves, the craven Durand 
shrank back, physically as well as morally 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 131 

cowed before the preponderating influence 
of his opponent's strength. 

Jera Le Britta drew the packet containing 
the precious glass negative from his pocket. 

Carefully he undid its coverings. Wrap 
by wrap it was unfolded, until, finally, reach- 
ing the last envelope and the straw-board 
sheets that enclosed it, he drew the little 
piece of glass into view. 

“Here,” bespoke, calmly, “ is the evidence 
of your iniquity, the proof that Gideon Ver- 
non made a will revoking the power reposed 
in you by a former one. Why do I show it 
to you ? Shall I tell you ? 

“ Yes,” gurgled in Durand’s throat. 

“ Because I wish to avoid scandal, litigation. 
Because I wish to give you a final chance to 
atone for your past wrong-doing. When I 
have shown it to you, when I have plainly, 
irrefutably convinced you that it with my 
evidence will rescind your powers, and rescue 
this fair estate and its fairer rightful legatee 
from your machinations, you can resign your 
trust.” 

“ And if I refuse? ” 

“The law will be appealed to.” 

' “ Show your boasted proofs ! ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


132 

“ I will. Behold ! ” 

Advancing to within two feet of the gaping, 
trembling Durand, the photographer placed 
the glass negative so that the light could 
shine through it. 

In brief, terse sentences he related how it 
had corrie into his possession. In calm, 
measured tones he followed the craven’s 
eyes, and read the chronicle of the camera. 

It was a strange repetition of the last will 
and testament of dead Gideon Vernon. The 
schemer stared, listened, trembled. He was 
a bold, defiant knave when he held the reins 
of power, but just now he seemed to realize 
the weakness of his position. 

The effect of the revelation upon Durand 
was far more startling and satisfactory than 
Le Britta had hoped to accomplish. His 
experiment was a complete success. 

Ashen-faced, baffled, criminal Ralph Du- 
rand became convulsed like a man in the 
incipient stages of paroxysm. 

“Show it to me!” he hissed, hoarsely, 
flinging out his trembling hands. “ Let me 
read, inspect for myself.” 

“No.” 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 


133 

With one hand Le Britta forcibly pushed 
back the all too eager knave. 

Not for a moment would he trust that 
precious article, the tell-tale negative, in his 
unscrupulous hands. 

He placed the little piece of glass upon 
the table, slanting it against two books, so 
that, as a perpetual menace fully visible to 
Durand, it might continue to impress and 
influence him. 

Then he strode between it and the baffled 
villain, who glared alternately at it and its 
owner. 

‘ Bah ! a trick to frighten me,” gurgled in 
Durand’s throat. 

'‘You know better,” responded Le Britta, 
sternly. "Your face betrays you, your 
trembling frame reveals your terror, your 
conviction. That is proof one. It disposes 
of the will affair. I ask you, ere I proceed 
further, to here and now resign your trust as 
Gladys Vernon’s guardian.” 

Durand did not reply. He felt that he 
could gain nothing by a confession or a com- 
promise. This calm, resolute man meant 
what he said. Divest him of power of guar- 
dianship, what guarantee had Durand that 


The ciikohiicLE oP A cameeA. 


134 

his next step would not be to land him iil 
a felon’s cell as the murderer of Gideon 
Vernon? 

He calculated silently the chances of de- 
feating Le Britta’s designs. He realized the 
full value of that tell-tale negative. Profi- 
cient in all the quirks and turns of the law, 
he knew that the negative, together with Le 
Britta’s verbal story of the making and dis- 
appearance of the new will, and his own un- 
savory reputation, would evoke the interest, 
suspicion and mediation of a court of justice, 
if nothing more, and cause a rigid surveill- 
ance of his actions as guardian. 

In other words, the negative frightened 
him. It was a powerful weapon in the hands 
of a determined adversary, but the old crafty 
expression returned to those sinister eyes, as 
Durand recalled Le Britta’s story of the acci- 
dental discovery of the picture in the camera. 

“ Well, what have you to say ? ” demanded 
the photographer. 

Durand smiled — a ghastly, sickly smile. 
The corners of his mouth twitched nervously, 
his brow furrowed with disquietude and 
uncertainty. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


135 


‘‘ Say ? ” he gulped. “ Why, you’ve played 
me a trump card.” 

'‘Ah ! you confess that, do you } ” 

“ Yes. I suppose old Vernon’s lawyer just 
chuckled over your discovery.” 

This was a clever feeler — a hint to lead 
on his antagonist to reveal more that the 
schemer wished to know. 

Blunt, straightforward, the honest and hon- 
orable Le Britta was no match for his adroit 
foe in the line of tactics the latter had 
resolved to adopt. Confident in his strength 
and the integrity of his position, he did not 
discern the trap into which Durand was lead- 
ing him. 

he repeated, vaguely. 



“ I have nofMSiit/wn it to the lawyer yet.” 

Ralph Durand’s eyes glittered with a 
fierce, sinister triumph. That innocent ad- 
mission raised his depressed hopes like 
magic. 

“Nor the doctor, either, I suppose.^” he 
ventured. 

“Nor the doctor, either.” 

“Why,” continued the crafty schemer, 
leading his opponent on deftly, “ I should 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


136 

have thought that the first thing to do after 
you discovered your vaunted clue to all my 
guilt and your own superb smartness” — 
here he sneered audibly, the more effectually 
to throw Le Britta off his guard and distract 
him from guessing his true intentions-^ “ I 
should have thought that the first thing you 
did was to perfect your negative, print a score 
of copies, and send them to the judge, the 
lawyer, all your friends and my enemies ! ” 

“No,” spoke Le Britta, bluntly. “I has- 
tened here at once to see if I could not reason 
you into the right thing. There is time 
abundant to attend to all that.” 

“ Is there ! ” 

Ralph Durand half arose in the arm-chair. 
His shrinking helplessness slowly became 
the crouching attitude of a tiger posing for a 
sudden spring. 

“Yes, an abundance of time. But, we 
waste words ” 

“And that picture, that half-developed 
negative, is all the chronicle you have of this 
alleged will ? ” 

“ Is it not enough ? ” 

“ It might get lost, disfigured, broken.” 

“ I shall see to that.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 137 

I have an offer to make you.” 

‘^Indeed?” ' 

“Yes.” 

“What is it ?” demanded Le Britta, suspi- 
ciously. 

“ I will buy it of you.” 

“ You !” 

“ Yes. I offer ybu for that little piece of 
glass one thousand dollars cash. Come, be 
reasonable ! You are concerning yourself in 
the welfare of people you scarcely know. 
Take the thousand dollars, deliver up the 
negative, and leave people to fight their own 
battles.” 

Jera Le Britta flushed scarlet. 

“ You insulting scoundrel/’ he cried, with 
flashing eyes, his fists slowly closing and un- 
closing. “You deserve an honest man’s best 
efforts at thrashing you. Enough ! I will 
dally no longer with you. I take my evidence 
of your guilt to the courts of justice.” 

“ No, you never will ! ” 

The declaration was a ringing hiss. Quick 
as a flash, Ralph Durand sprang foward. 
He had but one idea in his mind — to reach 
the precious negative, secure and destroy it. 


THE CMROMICLE OE A CAMERA. 


J38 

Upon it hinged all his hopes of fortune; 
he knew it, he realized it fully. 

His move, sudden as it was, however, was 
intercepted by the guarded Le Britta. 

The photographer divined his purpose. 
He met the fierce onward rush of the scoun- 
drel ere he was half-way to the table, he 
seized him by the shoulders. 

Ralph Durand was a powerful man, an 
adroit man, too, in tricks likely to baffle and 
beat an unwary foe. 

The man, however, who had never weak- 
ened a splendid constitution with over-indul- 
gence in liquors and tobacco, was fully a 
match for a rum-wrecked, nicotine-poisoned 
adversary. 

Seizing Durand by the shoulders, he fairly 
flung him straight ’back into the arm-chair he 
had just left, with a shock that made the 
craven’s jaws come together like the springs 
of a steel trap. 

There he sat, a picture of baffled villainy, 
a huddled-up mass of breathless, jarred hu- 
manity. 

'‘You sit still, if you are wise!” warned 
the photographer, sternly. “ Once more and 
for the last time, will you resign yOur trust 


TiiK chronicle of a camera. 


139 

as guardian of Gladys Vernon, go your way 
until the law finds you out for some new vil- 
lainy, or shall I take that negative to a court 
of law and force you to do so ? ” 

“ Give me time to think ! ” pleaded the 
breathless, baffled Durand. 

He sat scowling, trembling with rage, his 
eyes glaring balefully at the man who had 
beaten him back at every point. 

Watching him warily, Le Britta awaited his 
decision. 

Suddenly Durand sprang to his feet, just 
near to hand was the fireplace, and lying 
across its fender was a short, heavy iron 
poker. 

This he had seized, this he now waved 
above his head. 

Never ! he fairly yelled. “ If I give in 
in one point, you will hound me down in a 
dozen. Never! never! never!” 

He poised the iron missile. Le Britta 
supposed that he meditated a murderous 
assault upon himself, dodged, advanced, 
sought to get near enough to his nimble foe 
to disarm him. 

The poker swayed aloft, cutting the air in 


rnii CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


140 

a swooping circle, until it wizzed like a 
minnie ball. 

Then it left the hand of the rascal, but not 
to descend on the head of his unarmed foe. 

No, with a groan of alarm and startled 
dismay, too late Jera Le Britta comprehended 
the full, sinister purpose of his foe. 

The glass negative, not its possessor, was 
the source of all Ralph Durand’s interest just 
then. 

The whirling missile of iron swept clear 
past Le Britta’s dodging head, it grazed the 
table, straight as an arrow struck the tilted 
fac-simile of Gideon Vernon’s last will and 
testament. 

Crash ! 

The next moment the precious glass nega- 
tive was shattered into a thousand pieces ! 


Chapter XVII. 

A NEW SURPRISE. 

You scoundrel ! ” 

Fairly blinded with anger, the dismayed 
and routed Le Britta sprang forward to wreak 
summary vengeance on the sly, dissimulat- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


I4I 

ing rogue who had baffled his skill com- 
pletely. 

With a groan of anguish the photographer 
comprehended the terribly disastrous de- 
nouement of the scene that had begun with 
an augury of certain triumph. 

Ralph Durand had sank back into the arm- 
chair, with the gloating, exultant face of a 
fiend rampant and satisfied. 

‘‘Ha! ha!” he chuckled, jeeringly, “who 
is master now, my smart picture peddler? 
Your work goes for nought ! ” 

“Wretch!” 

“Let me see. I offered you one thousand 
dollars for your picture. I would not give 
one thousand cents just now ! Gather up 
the fragments, my over-sanguine meddler! 
They will sell for old glass.” • 

Le Britta was too overcome to speak. 
The helplessness of his position, the wild 
victory of his opponent, the uselessness of 
further discussion all occurred to his mind, 
as a glance at the glass - littered carpet 
showed the wreck and ruin wrought by the 
well-directed iron missile in the brawny hand 
of Ralph Durand. 

He glared once at the scoundrel, whom he 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


142 

could have annihilated with a look. Then, 
turning, he slowly walked from the room and 
the house, uttering a single bitter, ominous, 
echoing word of warning — 

Wait ! ” 

Ralph Durand laughed mockingly and 
gleefully. He rubbed his hardened palms 
together, he gloated over his enemy’s down- 
fall, he chuckled, he capered. 

Long after Le Britta had got out of sight 
of the villa, he sang and danced, and poured 
down liberal potations of fiery brandy, little 
reckoning of a change destined to come over 
the spirit of his dreams ere many days of his 
worthless, scheming existence had passed 
away. 

As to Le Britta, that tramp back to the 
village was the bitterest walk of his life. He 
blamed himself for all that had occured. He 
reproached and deprecated now the blind 
over-confidence that, tempting him single- 
handed to oppose a crafty foe, had led him 
into the greatest error of his life. 

But all that was past now, and, added to pi,ty 
for wandering Gladys and his keen sense of 
justice, was a smarting sense of defeat that 
spurred him on to take up anew the cudgel 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


143 

ag-ainst Ralph Durand, as a personal foe 
against whom he bore an especial personal 
grievance. 

What should he do, what could he do ? 
The old will, giving Durand full control of 
the Vernon fortune, and therefore an undis- 
puted censorship over Gladys Vernon herself, 
could never be annulled now. The unscru- 
pulous swindler was free, by clear sanction 
of the law, and Gideon Vernon’s expression 
of utter confidence in his power to wreck this 
royal estate, render its rightful legatee an 
outcast, and defy her helpless friends. 

Oh ! it was bitter, torturing, cruel, to 
realize ; and, worst of all, the object of his 
persecutions, Gladys, was a wanderer, a fugi- 
tive. Her lover, Sydney Vance, had disap- 
peared, and the threads of their lives com- 
mingled in a tangled skein, the solution to 
which the crafty Durand alone possessed. 

There was an element of the indomitable 
and stubborn in Jera Le Britta’s nature. It 
had marked important and vital issues in 
his life in the past. Just now, it spurred 
him on to action. His duty was to return 
home. He had done all he could to right a 
great wrong, and had failed, but he could not 


THE CHROHICLE OF A CAMERA. 


144 

confess himself beaten, he could not endure 
the thought that he had undertaken a great 
task and had failed in its accomplishment, 
and must, perforce, shrink from the field with 
drooping colors. 

I will learn the truth. I will evolve 
consistency from this tangled complication ! ” 
he uttered, forcibly, and, just arrived at that 
conclusion, he came face to face at the edge 
of the town with the village lawyer. 

Mr. Munson greeted him cordially, more 
than that, effusively. His thoughtful eyes 
glowed with excitement as he intuitively 
traced in Le Britta’s presence there a subtle 
connection with the Vernon interests.” 

“What news?” he queried, expectantly. 

“None of any great cheer or encourage- 
ment,” replied the photographer, in a de- 
pressed tone. “ And you ? ” 

“ The doctor and myself have sent a detec- 
tive to trace and bring back poor Gladys.” 

“ Has he found her ? ” 

“Not yet. Another officer is looking out 
for her lover, Sydney Vance. Rome was not 
built in a day. It takes time to follow an 
obscure trail. We shall have some word 
shortly.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


H5 

I hope so/’ murmured Le Britta. I 
have something to tell you.” 

“Y^s?” 

“ But not of a very inspiriting nature.” . 

Your face tells me that.” 

Le Britta related his story of the discovery 
and fate of the glass negative. 

The lawyer looked startled at the thrilling 
recital. 

“Too bad!” he commented when the 
photographer had completed his graphic nar- 
rative ; “ too bad, indeed I ” 

“ The negative was an important clue ? ” 

“ Decisive, I should say ; but we won’t cry 
over spilled milk. That scoundrel of a Dur- 
and is a desperate man, but we shall catch 
him napping yet.” 

“ I doubt it.” 

“The sleekest rogues forget to bar their 
doors, sometimes.” 

“ He is always on his guard.” 

“You talk hopelessly.” 

“ Of finding out something by remaining 
quiescent? — Yes. I believe in personal ef- 
fort, Mr. Munson ; I do not pretend to any 
particular detective ability, but I am going to 
try to see what I can do by watching this 


146 the chronicle of a camera. 

knave. For all we know, he has tracked 
Gladys. He may have her a captive some- 
where, he may connive at her death. He 
may have some scheme to later come in and 
inherit or claim the property personally. 
The stake he plays for is a large one, and 
he will win, if left undisturbed.” 

The lawyer looked impressed and serious. 

“You are talking sense, Mr. Le Britta,” 
he remarked, gravely. 

“ Of course,” pursued the photographer, 
“ I am a comparative stranger to Miss 
Vernon, but I have a heart, sympathies, that 
impell me to do my duty. I must, I shall, 
find this poor girl. I cannot rest until 
I know her fate. I shall make all my ar- 
rangements to devote a week, or months if 
need be, in her behalf.” 

“In other words, you will personally take 
up the trail ? ” 

“Yes.” 

The lawyer’s eyes sparkled with genuine 
admiration, and he grasped Le Britta’s hand 
warmly. 

“You are a noble man, Mr. Le Britta ! ” 
he murmured, with strong emotion. “ I can 
rely on you. Command' my co-operation 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


147 

and my bank-account. I feel now that we 
will succeed.’' 

Once started on a case, Jera Le Britta 
was a hard man to dissuade from his purpose. 
He remained at the village that day and 
the next, “looking over the ground,” as he 
called it. 

What he learned he did not impart to 
either the lawyer or the doctor, for it con- 
sisted of trivial suspicions and suggestions. 

“To-morrow,” he said to the lawyer that 
night, “ I shall obtain a suitable disguise ; 
to-morrow I shall take up the trail at Haw- 
thorne villa. First, I shall strive to locate 
the missing Sydney Vance.” 

“ And not Gladys ? ” ejaculated the lawyer, 
surprised. 

“No ; for she, I am sanguine, is resolute 
in hiding from friend and foe alike. Vance, 
on the contrary, I feel sure, is a prisoner in 
the power of Ralph Durand, or has been 
murdered by him. Fasten such a . crime on 
Durand, or find Vance and get his story of 
the death of Gideon Vernon, and we have a 
tangible basis to proceed upon. Then, 
Durand once deposed, do not fear but that 
Gladys will return. She will be watching 


148 the chronicle of a camera. 

the outcome of events at Hawthorne villa 
from a distance, rest assured of that.” 

“ The best-laid plans of men and mice 
gang oft agley !” however, as Jera Le Britta 
realized that evening. 

For, on the eve of devoting all his ener- 
gies toward probing the great Vernon 
mystery personally, that very evening the 
clerk at the hotel handed him a sealed en- 
velope. 

It was a telegraphic dispatch, and was 
dated that afternoon from his home. 

“Return at once,” read the mystifying 
message. “Vernon case. Important.” 

And it was signed, stranger still, by his 
old-time friend. Dr. Richard Milton. 


Chapter XVIII. 

“finders keepers.” 

Jera Le Britta was surprised, more than* 
that, absolutely startled, as he perused the 
innocent-looking message that bore so strange 
and unexpected a revelation. 

Its mandate, advising urgency, was per- 
emptory, its wording mysterious. At first, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


149 

he feared that it might indicate trouble in his 
business. A year previous, a fire had caused 
havoc and disruption of business temporarily 
in his studio, and he had experienced anxiety 
ever since on the same score. Illness in his 
family, too, might be imminent. But, no ! 
neither business nor domestic complication 
had incited the telegram, the potographer 
felt sure of that after a second perusal, for the 
mystic interpolation, “Vernon case,” betrayed 
the real, actuating influence behind the action 
of his friend Doctor Milton. 

“ What can it mean ? Vernon case ! ” cog- 
itated the startled Le Britta. “Doctor Dick 
is no sensationalist, no alarmist. He’s too 
cool and methodical for that. He knows all 
about the Vernons, for I told him. Can it be 
possible that he has made some important 
discovery — some new evidence in the cam- 
era ? Pshaw ! that is impossible. Has he 
found a trace of Gladys accidentally? 
Scarcely ; what then ? The only way to find 
out is to return home. Yes, I must leave af- 
fairs in abeyance here for a few days. I must 
learn what Dick has discovered.” 

Le Britta took the first train homeward- 
bound. Late as the hour was when he 


I the chronicle of a camera. 

reached his destination, he went straight to 
the office of his friend. A light showed at 
its outside window. 

Tap ! tap ! 

“ Come in.” 

“Jera!" 

^^Dick!” 

“ Y ou got my message ? 

“ I would not be here if I hadn't, for I was 
deep in mystery and work. What is it,” 
queried the photographer, eagerly. 

“What I telegraphed you, the Vernon 
case.” 

“Why! Dick” 

“ You wonder how I come to discover any- 
thing about it, way off here, away from its 
center of operations.” 

“ It puzzles me, I must confess.” 

“Still, I have.” 

“ Ah I a trace of the girl ? ” 

“ Primarily, yes.” 

“You mean that you have found out where 
she is hiding ? ” 

“Not at all.” 

“Then ” 

“ Yesterday,” and Doctor Milton drew a 
newspaper from a table near by, “ I chanced 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


151 

to look over a journal published in a city not 
a hundred miles from here.” 

Go Qn.” 

“ Glancing over its columns, I came upon a 
queer-reading advertisement.” 

What was it ? ” 

Read for yourself.” 

Doctor Milton folded down the paper, 
and, his finger marking a column headed 
'‘Personal,” indicated one of the advertise- 
ments under that heading. 

Eagerly Le Britta perused the little item. 
It read : 

“ G. V. : Communicate with me at H. V. 
immediately. I and I alone have news of 
S. V. Would you save him ? Then do not 
delay. R. D.” 

Le Britta looked up with an excited face. 

“ You understand ? ” queried the doctor, in 
an impressive tone. 

“Yes; a message from Ralph Durand to 
Gladys Vernon, telling her to write to Haw- 
thorne villa if she would save her missing 
lover, Sydney Vance.” 

“Exactly. It struck me the minute I saw 
the initials, for I remembered all you had told 
me about this strangely mysterious case.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


152 

“ It proves what I have surmised all along/’ 

“ And that is ? ” 

‘‘That Ralph Durand was instrumental in 
the disappearance of Sydney Vance, and now 
knows where is.” 

“ It looks that way.” 

“Durand knows that through Vance only 
can he influence Gladys to return to the villa.” 

“ But why should he wish it?” 

“ That his future plottings will show. And 
this was why you telegraphed me?” 

“ Not at all.” 

“Eh!” ejaculated Le Britta, vaguely. 
“ There is something else ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“What? Hello! What’s that, Dick? A 
visitor — some one overhearing our conver- 
sation ! ” 

Le Britta had started quite violently, for 
just then from the next apartment echoed a 
faint sound like the moan or sigh of a human 
voice. 

“No listener, no fear of that, Jera, but 
some one is there.” 

“Who?” 

“The man whose strange discovery caused 
me to send that telegram.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


153 

*'Ah!” exclaimed Le Britta, excitedly. 
“ You put me on nettles, Dick ! ” 

“When I mentioned the Vernon case in 
my telegram,” pursued the doctor, “ I referred 
to him. Listen.” 

Briefly, Doctor Milton told the story of the 
injured tramp. He explained how he had 
come to take him from pity under his own 
roof, and dwelt particularly on the sufferer’s 
ravings about being rich, about his secrets, 
and about Hawthorne villa. 

“It startled me, Jera,” explained the 
doctor, “to. hear a tramp, a stranger, mention 
names fresh in my memory from your lips in 
connection with the Vernon case that very 
same day. It puzzled and interested me. I 
watched, I studied the man. For days I 
have been working over him. This morning 
I attempted a great experiment to save his 
arm. To-night, the symptoms of brain suf- 
fering were so definite, that I fear he is 
beyond surgical aid, and I sent for you.” 

“Then you have made some new dis- 
covery about him ? ” 

“Yes ; early this afternoon he had quite a 
lucid spell. He made me tell him all about 
his injuries. When I had done so he 


1^4 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

moaned despairingly, and told me that while 
he knew my experiment might have saved 
him from becoming a cripple had he lived, he 
felt that he was doonied.” 

“And you think so.” 

“ I fear it The injury to the brain is per- 
manent. Then I began to question him 
about his singular reference to Hawthorne 
villa.” 

“And what did he say?” 

“At first he fought shy of making any 
revelation. He kept muttering that 'finders 
were keepers,’ and that he was ' rich, rich, 
rich.’ Then, some sudden twinge of pain 
caused him to think of his dreaded death. 
He grew affrighted, then grateful for the 
great kindness of an utter stranger, as he 
chose to consider my slight services, and 
then he burst into tears, and said that he 
would tell me all his story.” 

“Dick, you interest me deeply!” ex- 
claimed the absorbed Le Britta, startled and 
hopeful at the same time. 

“ He was a tramp, he said,” continued 
Doctor Milton, “and a tramp with rather a 
low estimate of honesty. A certain night, 
and, Jera, he named the very night that 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 155 

Gideon Vernon was murdered at Hawthorne 
villa, he was in its vicinity. He said it was 
about dusk, and, as he was just going around 
to the back door of the mansion to beg a 
mouthful of food, he saw a man, an old man, 
Gideon Vernon himself, he afterward ascer- 
tained to a certainty, climb from the window 
of his sick-room out into the garden.” 

Oh ! that is impossible,” ejaculated the 
incredulous Le Britta. 

It seemed so to him, for the photographer 
had not been aware of the tragic incident of 
the last hour of Gideon Vernon’s life — of 
his dread' and discovery of the lurking 
Durand, of the strong stimulant he had 
taken, of how he had sought to remove the 
iron box from the cabinet, so that the lurker 
by no chance might secure and despoil it. 

''The tramp is positive,” continued the 
doctor. " He says his curiosity was evoked, 
and he hid and then followed Mr. Vernon. 
His cupidity was aroused as he saw him open 
the cover of the box, and a royal store of 
jewels and bank-notes showed. Mr. Vernon 
hurried through the garden, reach the ravine 
behind it, and suddenly disappeared behind 
a rock. By some secret ledge unknown to 


1^6 chronicle of a camera. 

the tramp, he reached a spot down the cliff- 
side. The tramp marked the place — the 
rock, the shelf of stone.- Mr. Vernon re- 
turned empty-handed. He could scarcely 
stagger back to the house for weakness. 
Evidently fearing Durand, he had hidden, 
his available treasure. The tramp still fol- 
lowed him. He saw him return to the house. 
The next morning he came to locate the 
ravine, intent upon finding the treasure. 
Then he heard of Mr. Vernon’s murder. It 
frightened him. Here he was, a suspicious 
character, hanging around the villa. They 
might suspect him.” 

‘‘What did he do?” 

“ Fled from the place; first, however, care- 
fully noting the spot in the vicinity of which 
the little iron box had surely been secreted. 
Mr. Vernon had died with the secret of its 
hiding-place locked in his breast. The tramp 
felt that he had a right to it. He decided to 
remain away until the ‘murder-scare,’ as he 
termed it, was over. Then he would return, 
secure it, and enjoy a fortune which, to his 
loose code of morals, came under the head- 
ing, ‘ finders keep.ers.’ ” 

Jera Le Britta was deeply startled at this 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


157 

graphic narrative. He realized how reason- 
able it all was. But what did the box con- 
tain ? Was it really valuable ? 

“The tramp,.” began Doctor Milton again, 
“then told me that this box he could direct 
me to. He bequeathed it to me, if he died. 
I smiled at the idea of consenting to receive 
other people’s money, but I knew how glad 
you would be to secure even this faint clue to 
a new complication in a case that so inter- 
ested you. About to tell me something 
more, the tramp fell back, insensible, again. 
He cannot stand many more of these fainting 
shocks. I thought it best to send for you, 
and telegraphed you.” 

“And the man ? ” 

“ Has lain in a state of coma ever since.” 

“ With his secret half told ? ” 

“As you know.” 

“ Doctor,” spoke Le Britta, energetically, 
“you must revive him ! ” 

“ It may be impossible.” 

“ Temporarily? ” 

“ I can try it.” 

He must tell us definitely where that box 
is hidden ! ” 

Doctor Milton took up a medicine case, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


158 

extracted a small, delicate, hypodermic 
syringe, and filled it with some colorless 
liquid from a phial. 

“ Come,” he said, “ I will try to revive the 
man. I will try to secure the secret of the 
hiding-place of Gideon Vernon’s box of val- 
uables.” 


Chapter XIX. 

THE tramp’s secret. 

Noiselessly Dr. Richard Milton and his 
companion entered the sick-room. 

Jera Le Britta stood curiously viewing the 
outlined form upon the couch. As the doctor 
carefully turned up the lamp, its rays plainly 
illumined the object that centered the atten- 
tion of the photographer. 

The face of the tramp-patient was white 
and bloodless, his unkempt shock of hair and 
straggling beard looked not at all confidence- 
inspiring, but from a survey of his features 
to his injured arm, Le Britta gazed with 
wildly-distended eyes. 

That arm was strapped at wrist and 
shoulder across an iron frame. It was bare 
3ave for a piece of almost invisible gauze, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


159 

saturated with some oily wash, and it looked 
like a mottled checker-board in its strange, 
puzzling appearance. 

'' Why ! Dick ! murmured Le Britta, 
“that arm” 

“Was the injured member. It was in a 
shape that no ordinary surgical care could 
adjust. It was either amputation or a crip- 
pled member for life, so I set myself to work 
to experiment.” 

“ You mean ? ” 

“ Skin-grafting.” 

Le Britta started intelligently. 

“Yes,” continued Doctor Milton, his face 
kindling with professional pride and confi- 
dence, “ I wanted to save the poor fellow 
months of suffering. Yesterday I gave out 
through the town what I intended to do. 
Humanity and curiosity alike brought me all 
the people I needed. From each I took an 
inch of cuticle, and transplanted it in patches 
on my patient’s arm. You see how it is cov- 
ered ? I have given him what nature cannot 
supply in this instance, a new cuticle, consist- 
ing of one hundred and forty-two adhesive 
plasters of other people’s skin — farmers’ 
cuticle, ministers’ cuticle, girls’ cuticle, boys’ 


l 6 o the chronicle of a camera, 

cuticle ; a mixture, but all necessary. If the 
man recovers, he will owe his perfect arm to 
the kindness of a large number of fellow- 
beings. If there is a moral as well as a 
physical transplanting, may be he will assimi- 
late some better qualities in that sadly-neg- 
lected nature of his.” 

Jera Le Britta did not reply to his friend’s 
half-jocular exordium. He admitted and ap- 
preciated his genius, and marveled at the 
deftness that admitted of his scientifically 
supplying a man denuded of vital accessories 
to perfect cuticle-exudation, with a practically 
new set of pores to his skin. 

He watched silently as the doctor bared 
the other arm of the patient, applied the 
point of the tiny glass instrument in his 
hand, and hypodermically injected a powerful 
stimulant into the laggard veins. 

The sufferer on the couch winced, shrank 
and moaned. Watched breathlessly by doc- 
tor and photographer, his lips began to 
twitch, his eyelids quivered. 

There was a noticeable dilation of the nos- 
trils, his pulse quickened, his respirations 
grew faster, he sighed, opened his eyes', fixed 
them on vacancy, then on the doctor, and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. i6l 

then, an expression of mingled horror and 
concern on his homely features, he gasped 
out — 

‘‘ Tve got to die ! ” 

“ Calmly, my friend, calmly ! ” urged the 
doctor in gentle tones. “ You are doing re- 
markably well.” 

“Yes, but this weight on my head — this 
horrible throbbing ! No ! no ! I am doomed. 
Doctor, I didn’t tell you” 

“ Do not concern yourself about anything. 
Think placidly, talk slowly.” 

“ Yes, but maybe I have only a few min- 
utes to live!” shuddered the tramp. “No, 
yours was the first kind hand lifted to aid me 
in the long years, the first unselfish act from 
the heart. You shall be rich — rich ! In the 
sole of my left shoe — the paper that tells — 
the secret — the hiding place ” 

Fainter and fainter sounded the gasping 
voice. The man’s eyes closed spasmodically, 
his breath came short and labored. 

“Wait!” murmured Doctor Milton, man- 
datorily, as Le Britta moved to leave the 
room. 

“ Ah ! I forgot.” Again the sufferer started 
up, this time a piteous, haunted expression 


1 62 the chronicle of a camera. 

on his face: ''Doctor! they can’t drag me 
into the net for murder if I didn’t do it, can 
they ? ” 

" Certainly not, my poor fellow.” 

“ And if I tell you, to unburden my coward 
conscience, and I should happen to live, they 
can’t say it was a lie, and, as I was there, I 
must have done the murder myself, the mur- 
der of that old man, Gideon Vernon ? ” 

" Mercy I what is all this ? ” gasped the 
startled Le Britta. 

"No! no!” urged the doctor, soothingly, 
"tell me what it is. You saw him killed?” 

"Yes. I was at the veranda, watching. 
A man stole in at the window, I saw him. 
Another young man came in to find the old 
man dying a minute later, but he did not do 
the deed. He ran after the real murderer, 
the man dressed as a tramp.” 

" Ah ! Ralph Durand ! ” ejaculated Le 
Britta. "Do you hear, Dick? This man’s 
evidence would hang Ralph Durand ! ” 

"Hang? no, they sha’n’t hang me! Who 
are you ? ” shrieked the tramp, for the first 
time noticing Le Britta. " Save me, doctor 1 
save me, save ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 163 

He sank back. Rigid, lifeless, he lay upon 
the couch. 

‘ Is he dying, Dick?” breathed Le Britta, 
anxiously. 

“No, but I fear” — began Doctor Milton, 
gravely. 

“What?” 

“ These fainting shocks weaken him. Ah ! 
I feared it ! the fever again.” 

“ If he could only be revived to recognize 
Ralph Durand ? ” 

“ Impossible. I will not have him dis- 
turbed again. His life, his reason quiver in 
the balance even now. I do not know if I 
can save him, but I will try.” 

“Try, try, indeed!” urged the photog- 
rapher, earnestly. “ For his own sake, for 
Gladys Vernon’s sake, for he, he alone knows 
the hand that struck down Gideon Vernon I ” 

The doctor watched his patient for some 
moments. Then he went out into the next 
apartment, whither Le Britta had preceded 
him. 

In his hand he bore one of the shoes which 
belonged to the tramp. 

“ Oh ! the paper he talked about, the 
secret document that tells where the box of 


164 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

treasure is hidden ! ’’ exclaimed Le Britta, 
interested. “I had almost forgotten about 
that, amid the startling importance of his 
reference to the- murder.’’ 

Silently Dr. Richard Milton drew out 
some wooden pegs from the worn sole of the 
tramp’s shoe. 

Here it is,” he announced, taking out a 
flat, folded envelope. 


Chapter XX. 

THE MISSING LINK. 

''What is it?” queried Le Britta, pressing 
eagerly forward to the side of his companion. 

“So, far, only a dirty, wrinkled heavy ma- 
nilla envelope. 

“ But it has some kind of an inclosure.” 

“ I shall soon learn.” 

Le Britta was beginning to get excited. 

That day had held so many startling epi- 
sodes in store for him, that he felt neither 
hunger nor fatigue. He could not but recog- 
nize the strange fatuity of circumstance. Here 
he had been delving at Hawthorne villa for 
facts, and his friend, miles distant, had dis- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 165 

covered clues diat seemingly encompassed 
the most vital issues of the case in hand. 

If the outcome of these revelations were 
ample, and as expected, the fortunes of 
Gladys Vernon would soon be bettered and 
brightened. 

Arranging them in order, Jera Le Britta 
realized that he had three distinct points of 
vantage on which to base new operations. 

First, the advertisement for Gladys Ver- 
non, sho\ying conclusively that Ralph Durand 
knew positively of the whereabouts of her 
accused lover, Sydney Vance. 

Second, the evidence of the dying tramp, 
proving indubitably the guilt of Ralph Du- 
rand as the assassin of Gideon Vernon. 

Third, the possession of the document or 
documents secreted m the sole of the tramp’s 
shoe, referring, without question, to a certain 
iron box, containing, possibly, the bulk of 
dead Gideon Vefnon’s ready-cash fortune. 

Documents these were, or, rather^ slips of 
paper, three in number. From the envelope, 
creased and crushed from heavy foot-press- 
ure, the doctor now drew three half-sheets of. 
writing-paper. 


1 66 the chronicle of a camera. 

The first was a rude scrawl, evidently In- 
dited at the tramp's instigation. 

Deciphered, it read — 

“I, Dave Wharton, have made a big dis- 
covery — a box of gold and jewels. Finders 
keepers, as the owner is dead. I get a man 
to write this at Dalton, because I might for- 
get." 

Dalton was. the first town west of Haw- 
thorne villa. Here the tramp, in his flight 
from the scene of the murder, had evidently 
induced some stranger to scrawl the mes- 
sage. 

The second piece of paper was in ^ totally 
different handwriting. It ran : 

“ Go to the villa. I know where. Then 
down the road to where a path strikes the 
ravine. This is written at Springford. I 
don't let anybody know the whole affair ex- 
cept myself, so I get my secret written in 
sections." 

Do you see ! ” exclaimed Doctor Milton, 
looking up. “ He was quite clever. Fear- 
ing he might forget the description of the 
place where he saw the iron box hidden, he 
had different people write according to his 
dictation. The last piece of paper, written 


THE CHRONICLE •F A CAMERA. 


167 

at the next town on his tramp, will probably 
complete the description of the hiding-place 
of the treasure. Yes, here it is.'' 

The third strip of paper began : 

''You go down the ravine north, until you 
come to a large ” 

There the chronicle stopped, abruptly, def- 
initely. 

" Go on ! ” urged the interested Le Britta. 

"There is no more to go on with,” replied 
Doctor Milton. 

" Why not ? ” 

" The rest of the writing is obliterated.’’ 

" What?” 

"Yes, see ? ” 

"Too bad ! ” 

Le Britta observed that the pencil marks, 
in the remainder of the sheet, had become a 
blur of vagueness. The tramp had trusted 
his precious secret to rather an unsafe place 
of hiding. Dampness had penetrated the 
thin sole of his shoe, it had, too, reached the 
inclosure in the envelope. 

" I declare, this is provoking,” commented 
Le Britta. 

" Well, don’t fret about it,” enjoined the 
doctor, philosophically* " It may not be so 


] 68 the chronicle of a .camera. 

difficult to find by inquiry who wrote the last 
scrawl for the tramp ; besides, you have a 
pretty fair idea that somewhere in the ravine 
near Hawthorne villa that treasure-box is 
hidden.” 

“You have no idea of the curves and 
windings of that same ravine,” replied Le 
Britta, “ or you would think as soon of hunt- 
ing for a needle in a hay-stack as for a little 
iron box among the innumerable boulders 
and fissures of the ravine in question.” 

Then let us assume that this last disfig- 
ured scrawl the tramp had written at the 
third town west of Hawthorne villa.” 

“ Well, suppose that ? ” 

“ When you have time, go there. Cross- 
ville is a small settlement. You can easily 
get a trace of the tramp’s visit, locate the 
man who wrote the note for him, and get him 
to repeat its contents.” 

“ If he remembers the same.” 

“ He probably will. See here, Le Britta ! 
I imagine we’ve had enough excitement for 
one night. It is getting very late. We both 
need sleep. My whole efforts shall be di- 
rected to making my patient recover, so that 
his evidence may convict Ralph Durand of 


THE CHEONICLE^ OF 4 CAMERA. 

the murder of Gideon Vernon. Your im- 
petuous nature will probably not allow you 
to rest until you have found this mysterious 
hidden box. You can’t do anything more 
to-night. Go home, and we will have 
another talk over the affair, in the morning.” 

“Good advice, Dick! Fm off. You’ve 
made a great discovery, old friend, and I be- 
gin to see the light at the end of all this plot 
and mystery at last, thanks to you ! 

“Thanks to the tramp, you mean, Jera.” 

“As you lik^, only the facts are there all 
the same.” 

Le Britta started from the doctor’s rooms. 
He peered sharply down the unlighted cor- 
ridor, as he fancied he heard a rustling sound 
at its farther end. Then bidding Doctor 
Milton good-night, he started for the street. 

“I declare ! some one was lurking in the 
hall ! ” he ejaculated, as he saw a stealthy 
form steal from the lower doorway, and dis- 
appear in the darkness and gloom of the 
night. 

He ascribed his fears to fancfy, the identity 
of the lurker, if there really had been such, 
to some homeless tramp, as he proceeded 
homeward. 


1 yo ms CHROHICLE OF A CAMERA. 

He never imagined that Ralph Durand, as 
shrewd as his antagonists, might have set a spy 
to watch his movements. 

If such was, indeed, the case, and that spy 
had overhead all the conversation in the doc- 
tor s office, he must know of the witness to 
the crime, and the precious treasure-box hid- 
den in the winding ravine of Hawthorne villa ! 


Chapter XXL 

ART PHOTOGRAPHIC. 

Morning brought more mature reflection 
to Jera Le Britta. A placid sleep, an hour 
spent with the children at the late breakfast 
table, cheered and revivified his fagged facul- 
ties like a cordial. 

He had an abundance to think over, and, 
in the light of recent revelations, he saw less 
occasion for a speedy return to Hawthorne 
villa than the day previous. 

Then, with no clues in sight, only a seem- 
ing muddle, he was driven to the desperate 
expedient of single-handed seeking to learn 
the hiding place of Gladys Vernon, the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. lyi 

whereabouts of her missing lover, Sydney 
Vance. 

Now, all his thoughts were centered upon 
Ralph Durand. He was master of the situ- 
ation at present. Depose him, and subordi- 
nate details would harmoniously adjust them- 
selves. 

The evidence of the tramp, Dave Wharton, 
would convict Ralph Durand. That meant 
the establishing of the complete innocence of 
Sydney Vance, and that, in turn, would en- 
able Gladys Vernon to return home, without 
the dread of having a sinister foe as a guard- 
ian, or condemning her lover by her evi- 
dence. 

But Dave Wharton might die ? Even if 
he lived, weeks might elapse ere he could 
appear in a court of justice, and meantime, 
Gladys Vernon might be decoyed to the villa 
by the threatening Ralph Durand, and, put out 
of the way, her lover might be doomed. 
No ! Le Britta could not bear the thought of 
lying inactive. He must be at work in the 
interests of imperiled innocence, and he re- 
solved first and foremost to try and secure a 
reproduction of the missing directions as to the 
hidden treasure-box, and then to covertly and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


172 

in disguise watch Hawthorne villa, in the 
hopes that Gladys might return thither ; to 
warn and rescue her, to learn, if possible, 
where Ralph Durand had Sydney Vance im- 
prisoned, or held under his baleful spell of 
terror. 

But fate ordained a far different programme 
for that day. Arrived at his studio, Le Britta 
was startled with the quick query from his 
fair assistant : 

“ Mr. Le Britta, have you seen them ” 

“ Them who ? ” queried the photographer, 
wonderingly. 

“Four men looking for you, and bound to 
find you, they said.” 

“Why ! who are they ” — began Le Britta, 
vaguely. 

“ They said they were officers'' demurely 
announced Miss Maud. 

“Officers!” gasped Le Britta, “looking 
for me.” 

“Yes,” replied Maud, a roguish twinkle 
in her eye — ^ “ officers of the Knights of 
Pythias.” 

“Oh!” 

LeBritta’s mouth expanded in an intelli- 
gent smile. He comprehended now. At a 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


173 

point not many miles distant a conclave for 
the State was to begin that day. He had 
received an invitation. More than that, 
friends, brothers of the order, had insisted 
that he be present, not only to help enjoy 
the ceremonies and festivities of the occasion, 
but also to take photographic groups. 

He had decided not to go three days pre- 
vious. Business itself prevented. More 
than that, his interest in the Vernon case 
took all his thoughts from participating in 
any event of gayety. 

‘'They are looking for you — went up to 
the house,” explained Maud. “ There they 
are ! . 

Four jolly, noisy friends burst into the. 
studio as the fair artiste spoke. 

“ Le Britta !. we’ve caught you.” 

“Sir Knight! you can’t escape us.” 

Hearty greetings followed. 

“ Get ready. We’re off on the next train. 
Stopped over for you,” spoke one of the 
quartette. 

- “ Boys, I can’t go,” dissented Le Britta, 

seriously. 

“Nonsense!” 

“ You see, business — 


I 74 THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

“ It’s business we want you to go for. We 
want some pictures taken.” 

'‘There’s a first-class photographer on 
hand.” 

“He don’t know how to pose us as you 
do. No use, Le Britta ! No camera in the 
State can do such irresponsible fellows as us 
justice except yours.” 

It was useless resisting. He had been the 
soul and life of too many such gatherings to 
be excused. Reluctantly he assented, made 
hasty preparations for a brief stay in the 
neighboring city, and had a short consulta- 
tion with his friend Doctor Milton. 

“ I can go on from there to Crossville and 
look up the missing document, Dick,” he 
suggested. 

“Just the thing, Jera ! ” 

They reached their destination before 
noon. The city was given over to the genial 
knights, and their majestic uniforms glowed 
on every street. 

Some twenty members of a certain lodge 
insisted on having their photographs taken 
in a group while they felt fresh and had the 
leisure, and arrangements were forthwith 
made. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 175 

Le Britta visited a photographer whom he 
knew, and whose studio was supplied with 
the very best instruments in use in the art. 

The latter felt it an honor rather than an 
intrusion to have so famed a fellow-artist take 
his place at the camera, and the operating 
room was soon filled with the score of knights 
anxious to have a taking picture made in 
group. 

Le Britta exerted himself to produce a 
striking effect. The light was fine^ the cam- 
era, lenses and other accessories in harmony 
with the scenic accouterment of the studio. 

Posing a subject was his peculiar'forte, and 
he grouped his friends with great care. He 
tried to explain to one stubborn knight that 
he must present his left face to the camera. 

Why, the most striking curl of my mus- 
tache is on the right,’' demurred the gentle- 
man in question, jokingly. 

“Yes, and all your age and hardness of 
expression as well,” retorted Le Britta. 
“Always remember this, boys, when you 
have your picture taken — present the left 
side of your face. From long observation I 
have learned that the right side of the face is 
the ugliest. It is the false side of a man’s 


176, the chronicle of a camera. 

character, it shows all the furrows and crow’s- 
feet first ; the right eye dims earliest ; why, I 
can’t tell, but it does, whereas, the left side 
of the lace is softer, gentler, more natural 
and expressive. Now, then.” 

‘^Look pleasant!” laughed a jolly voice. 

“ Grin ! ” sang out another veteran. 

No^t at all,” demurred Le Britta. “ Look 
natural ; that is all. Remember, you have a 
mind, and that upon your 'features are indel- 
ibly stamped your characteristics. You are 
responsible for these ; not the artist. If you 
want the picture to delineate what is best in 
you, think your highest, purest thoughts ; 
let your thoughts dwell upon what is joyful, 
peaceful and sweet in life.” 

Le Britta was careful in posing his sub- 
jects ; he was equally particular that the 
proper light should fall upon each face. 

Ready f ” ' 

There was a moment of silence, and the 
picture was taken. Le Britta did not say 
Excellent.” He knew the photograph would 
express that word, and the group repeat it 
when they came to inspect the same, later on. 

Three other groups desired to come under 
his care that afternoon, but the photographer 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. lyy 

had promised to do some work that required 
a personal use of the camera at once, and an 
arrangement was made for the next morning. 

“ If I can get away from these jolly fellows, 
I will run down to Crossville this afternoon,” 
reflected Le Britta. “ I can get back in time 
for the exercises this evening,^ for it is only a 
few miles distant.” 

Crossville was the town that, in the ordi- 
nary sequence of affairs. Dr. Richard Milton 
decided had been the place where the tramp 
had secured the last and subsequently oblit- 
erated strip of paper bearing on the secret of 
the hiding-place of Gideon Vernon’s treasure- 
box. 

At four o’clock that afternoon, the photog- 
rapher managed to steal away from his 
friends, and an hour later he reached the 
little town of Crossville. 


Chapter XXII. 

CLUE ONE ! 

The reader will remember, that of the 
three little strips of paper found in the shoe 
of the injured tramp at Dr. Richard Milton’s 


I 78 the chronicle of a camera. 

office, one had been disfigured and rendered 
undecipherable by dampness penetrating the 
sole and defacing it. 

The tramp, when he left Hawthorne villa, 
had, with clever shrewdness, stopped at the 
first town, and had engaged some person to 
write the preamble, or first section of his 
secret. 

At the next town, a second portion had 
been chronicled on a second strip of paper. 

It was reasonable, therefore, for the doctor 
and Le Britta to theorize that at the next 
town on his vagrant route he completed the 
record. 

The next town being Crossville, hither the 
photographer had come, hoping by inquiry 
and investigation to trace the person whom 
the tramp had employed to write the third 
section or the balance of the secret, without 
which only a blind search could result for the 
' hidden box of treasure. 

There were about fifty houses in Cross- 
ville, a hotel, a tavern, and the usual meager 
array of small shops and stores to be met 
with in every humdrum, way-back rural set- 
tlement. 

Le Britta had a very fair description of the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 


179 

tramp in his mind. To his care, also, Doctor 
Milton had intrusted the manilla envelope 
and the three bits of paper it contained. 
Armed with the blurred strip, presumably 
written at Crossville, Le Britta set out to 
locate its author. 

He first visited the hotel, then in turn the 
stores, the shops, and several private 
houses. 

Had the occupants seen, several days 
before, a trampish-looking man, dressed so 
and so ? 

No, none could recall the individual 
inquired about. There had been so many 
tramps around, they could not remember any 
particular one. They all looked alike, and 
talked alike, Le Britta’s informants averred. 

Had he, however, seen the village con- 
stable ? He was the man to go to. Eagle- 
eyed, inquisitive, this official was supposed 
to welcome the advent of all strangers, and 
especially keep watch of those whose appear- 
ance was in the least degree suspicious. 

Le Britta made several inquiries before he 
located the public functionary in question. 
He found the constable seated in the bar- 


I So the chronicle of a camera. 

room of the tavern, smoking a corn-cob pipe 
and telling stories. 

Le Britta could stand the pungent odor of 
chemicals, but liquor made him shudder with 
repugnance. He^ managed to lure the con- 
stable away from the distasteful proximity of 
the fiery compounds, that treat a man’s stom- 
ach with about as much courtesy as an acid 
bath does an undeveloped plate, making 
finally the proboscis a true ruby-light, and 
the mental condition of the unfortunate, when 
his last dollar is gone, much to resemble a 
blue-print ! 

‘'I am looking for some trace of a tramp 
who passed through Crossville about a week 
ago,” announced Le Britta, as a preface. 

“A tramp ? ” and the constable pricked up 
his ears, and looked wise and swelled out 
grandiloquently. ‘'Ah! a tramp? Just so.” 

“ Dressed ” — and the photographer gave 
an accurate description of Dave Wharton. 

“ Seems to rrte I remember him.” 

“He wore an old, faded army cap.” 

“Ah ! I’ve got him ! ” ejaculated the officer. 

“ Sure ? ” 

“Yes. I ordered him to leave the place; 
I even went with him to the limits,” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. igi 

'‘And he asked you. to do a bit of writing 
for him ? ” 

The constable started violently. 

“ Hello ! how did you know that ? ” he ejac- 
ulated. 

“ Didn’t you ? ” persisted Le Britta. 

“ I did, for a fact.” 

“ Was that part of what you wrote ? ” 

Le Britta exhibited the half-obliterated 
writing from the tramp’s manilla envelope. 

The constable examined it. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “that’s it.” 

“ You see it is almost erased ?” 

“ Yes, I see it is.” 

“ Can you remember what it was you 
wrote ? ” 

The constable reflected deeply. 

“ I can’t remember the exact words,” he 
stated, finally. 

“ But the substance ?” 

“ Yes, something about a big, flat rock.” 

“ A big, flat rock.” 

“ And then, a path leading down past some 
wild-grape vines.” 

“Proceed, please.” 

“And between two spurs of stone, a small 
spring. That’s all.” 


i 82 the chronicle of a camera. 

“Sure?" 

“Yes." 

Le Britta thanked the man. His informa- 
tion had been concise and satisfactory. He 
explained that the tramp had got hurt, and 
that he was looking up a memorandum he 
had made, of considerable importance to him- 
self and others. 

“Then he returned to the city, feeling that 
he had scored a material point in the case in 
hand. From the description given, he was 
sure that he could find the hidden treasure- 
box. 

A pleasant time he passed with the knights 
that evening, and the next morning, with 
quite a party of them, he repaired to the pho- 
tographer s, to take their pictures. 

“I can only give you an hour," explained 
the latter to Le Britta. “ There is a dra- 
matic company just leaving town, and they 
are coming to have some photographs taken," 

“ An hour will be ample time," responded 
Le Britta, and it was, for he got through with 
his friends, and left orders with the photog- 
rapher as to the disposition of the pictures 
upon completion, just as several ladies en- 
tered the waiting-room. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 183 

Preparing the negatives consumed some 
little time, but at last Le Britta came out into 
the operating room. 

“Well, good-by,” he said. “Ah! excuse 
me, I thought you were alone.” 

The photographer was behind his camera, 
and seated near a screen was a veiled lady, 
evidently a member of the dramatic troupe he 
had referred to. 

“ Lift your veil, please,” he said to the lat- 
ter. “ I am all ready.” 

The lady obeyed him. 

“ Mercy ! ” ejaculated the petrified Le 
Britta, starting back half-a-dozen feet in sheer 
surprise and bewilderment. 

Staring blankly at the fair features revealed, 
he stood like one in a trance. 

The lady at that moment happened to gaze 
at him. 

With a violent start, she turned pale as 
death, and arose to her feet as she evidently 
recognized him. 

Then, with a wild cry, she reeled where 
she stood, and fell senseless to the floor. 


1 §4 the chronicle of a camera. 

Chapter XXIII. 

CHECKMATE. 

The new master of Hawthorne villa had 
got up late. Moreover, he had arisen with a 
headache, the result of too free indulgence in 
strong drink the previous night. 

The mask of even ordinary civility was 
down now. Alone, unwatched, the lax mus- 
cles of his face, the ugly, malignant glare of 
his sinister eyes proclaimed Ralph Durand to 
be a very bad and a very dangerous man. 

He kicked over a pretty ottoman, the 
handiwork of gentle Gladys Vernon; he 
smashed a daintly perfume case in his impa- 
tience at a wry collar, and then, half-dressed, 
hurried to the dining-room to brace his shat- 
tered nerves with frequent potations of his 
favorite liquor — rum. 

There ! I feel like a man again,” he mut- 
tered, complacently, as the strong drink 
flushed his face and tingled in his blood. 

I’m going it a little too strong, though. 
Durand, old boy ! this won’t do ! The 
master of a fortune and a rare old establish- 
ment, like Hawthorne villa, must go slow. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 185 

respectable-like. Just now, pure dash and 
defiance have made every one in sight take 
to flight or concealment, but they may mass 
their forces anew. Yes, I need to be wary, 
vigilant, indomitable. If I drink too much I 
may get careless, I may be taken unawares. 
I must have a cool head, iron nerves, a never- 
sleeping eye. No more drink in excess, old 
boy ! until I perfect my plans.” 

Restored to good humor, Ralph Durand 
called the villainous-looking fellow he had 
appointed steward, gave his orders for the 
day, ate an ample breakfast, and, arraying 
himself in the loudest suit he possessed, 
started to walk toward the distant village. 

ril wake them up — I’ll bring that old 
fogy of a family lawyer to his senses ! ” he 
muttered. No time like now. Gladys has 
been scared away — I know how to bring her 
back. She must come back ! Her return is 
essential to my plots. First, there are cer- 
tain little legal formalities that vest a thor- 
ough right in me for handling the estate that 
she must tacitly sanction ; next, if I see the 
fortune slipping from my hands, I must pro- 
ceed to extreme measues. She might make 
a will and die, leaving me sole heir. She 


1 86 the chronicle of a camera. 

might marry — me / What an idea ! but, as 
I hold her in mortal terror, why not ? With 
the proofs to send her lover, Sydney Vance, 
to the gallows, with evidence that I control 
his liberty, she is a pliable tool in my subtle 
hands. Ah ! I plot wisely, I execute well.” 

The cold-blooded schemer chuckled se- 
renely. He cut savagely at the pretty flow- 
ers by the roadside as he strolled along. He 
hated beauty — he despised nature. It had 
no charms for him. As he mutilated the 
glowing buds, so would he cruelly crush 
every foe to his interest who dared to cross 
his path. 

“As to that meddling photographer, he 
won^ appear again in a hurry,” continued 
Durand. “ I checked his mad career sum- 
marily. I obliterated the last tangible clue, 
in sight, to my rascality, as he terms it, my 
shrewdness, I say — the glass negative. 
Master of the situation complete, I propose 
to bring affairs to a climax, money matters to 
a basis. I intend to begin lining my nest 
from the proceeds of the estate, lest misad- 
venture overcomes me, and turns me out of 
my position as censor of Gladys Vernon’s fate 
and the Vernon fortune.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 187 

Durand proceeded straight to the office of 
the lawyer the minute he reached the vil- 
lage. 

“Mr. Munson in?” he demanded, famil- 
iarly, of the boy in the outer office. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Busy ? ” 

“Writing a letter, yes, sir. Does not 
wish to be disturbed.” 

“ He’ll see me !'" interrupted Durand, inso- 
lently. “Tell him Mr. Durand is here.” 

“Mr. Durand? yes sir,” replied the inex- 
perienced youth, overawed by Mr. Ralph 
Durand’s imperious manner, and the glitter 
of his great diamond pin. 

“ He’ll see you, sir,” he announced, reap- 
pearing in a few minutes. 

“Thought he would! How are you, 
Munson ? ” 

Durand flung himself into an easy-chair as 
he entered the private office. 

The lawyer' nodded curtly. His drawn 
brows told how he disliked his visitor. 

“Not over glad to see me, are you?” 
laughed Durand, viciously. “ Can’t be 
helped, though. Come to see you on busi- 


ness. 


1 88 the chronicle of a camera. 

“Ah ! on business ? ” repeated the lawyer, 
his lips grim and set. 

“ Exactly.” 

“ About ” 

“The Vernon estate.” 

“ Proceed.” 

“ I am executor.” 

“ You seem to be.” 

“ Much against your liking ! However, 
you won’t dispute my claim. What I want 
to know is, how affairs -stand. I am exec- 
utor — I want something to execute ! ” 

Ralph Durand chuckled diabolically at his 
horrible pleasantry. The lawyer looked dis- 
gusted. 

“In other words,” he said, “you wish to 
assume your trust? ” 

“ At once.” 

“And take charge of the estate.” 

“ The ticket, exactly ! ” 

Mr. Munson took down a portfolio. 

It was marked on the outside, “Estate of 
Gideon Vernon — Private.” 

He opened it, and drew forth some papers. 

“Mr. Vernon’s last memoranda of his pos- 
sessions, real and personal,” he announced. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 189 

“Very good, go on!” cried Durand, with 
sparkling, avaricious eyes. 

“To summarize, there is the villa” 

“Worth?” 

“With furniture and belongings, say, 
twenty thousand dollars.” 

“ Quite a plum ! ” 

“ Next, the mines at Leeville ” 

“Valued?” 

“At one hundred and twenty-five thousand. 
He was offered that once.” 

“ Better still ! next ! ” 

“ Real estate in St. Louis, unimproved 
boulevard lots” 

“ Would bring ? ” 

“ At least fifty thousand dollars.” 

“ It’s piling up ! ” gloated the delighted 
plotter. “ I want it all turned over to me. 
As trustee, I do as I please with it — invest 
it, speculate, bank or devote to improve- 
ments.” 

“ Unfortunately, under the very lax condi- 
tions of the will, you may.” 

“ Never mind that. Now then, old Ver- 
non of course left lots of ready cash securities, 
bonds^ jewels and the like ? ” 

“ He had such, yes, before he died. I see 


I go THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

on this memoranda, that the day before his 
death, he listed his personal belongings at a 
clear hundred thousand dollars.” 

Ralph Durand’s eyes fairly blazed with 
covetousness. To handle all that in ready 
cash ! His finger ends tingled. 

“Now, then,” he cried, excitedly, “when 
can you turn all this property over to me ? ” 

“ At any moment.” 

“ Do it now ! 

“ On an order from the court.” 

Durand’s face fell, but he said, a moment 
later : 

“ That’s all right. I can get the order this 
morning — soon as court opens.” 

“ Very well.” 

“You’ll have the property in shape ?” 

“ Yes, what there is of it ? ” 

Ralph Durand started. There was a 
strange intonation in the lawyer’s voice, a 
peculiar expression of latent triumph and 
vindictiveness in his face. 

“ What do you mean by that? ” remarked 
Durand. 

“I mean what I say.” 

“The deeds for the real estate are in your 
hands.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA 


191 

Yesr 

“That settles that part of it, then. Now, 
then, as to the hundred thousand dollars in 
ready money — I get of that” 

“ one cent / ” 

Mr. Munson uttered the words with a 
thrill of grim satisfaction. 

“ What !” exclaimed Durand, starting sus- 
piciously, alarmed at the lawyers triumph- 
ant, satisfied manner, “ you say” 

“ Not one cent, Mr. Ralph Durand ! I 
must acknowledge you as the executor of the 
estate of Gideon Vernon, but I fear you will 
not welcome the trust.” 

“ Will not welcome it ” gasped the start- 
led plotter, realizing some latent defeat, dis- 
aster, in the lawyer’s sphynx-like face. 

“ No.” 

“ And why not ? ” 

“ Because,” replied the lawyer, impress- 
ively, “the estate of Gideon Vernon is a 
complete wreck 


192 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Chapter XXIV. 

A MYSTERY. 

Ralph Durand looked much like an eager 
fox-hunter suddenly checked in his mad 
career of further progress, by an insurmount- 
able barrier, with a shock. 

‘‘The estate a wreck ! ” he gasped, falter- 
ingly. 

His were the white face, the trembling lip, 
the dismayed eyes, now. 

The lawyer locked his hands, placidly. 
However much he might deplore disaster to 
the Vernon interests, he seemed to fairly 
delight in the discomfiture and chagrin of his 
unwelcome client. 

“ Exactly,” he murmured. 

“ I don’t believe it ! ” 

Durand flared out like a spitting volcano. 
He stormed, raved, threatened. The lawyer 
calmly awaited his quieting down. 

“We return to facts,” he spoke, with pro- 
voking coolness. “The estate is a wreck. 
Instead of your becoming the free and easy 
dispenser of thousands, you come into con- 
trol of a shattered, almost worthless, estate,” 


/ 





p, iig. — Inside lay a man motionless, bleeding. 






THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


193 

^‘I don’t believe it ! ” choked out Durand, 
white with rage and disappointment. 

The records will bear me out.” 

‘'Trickery — fraud! A scheme to defeat 
me I ” 

“Take care,” warned the lawyer, a dan- 
gerous look in his stern eyes, “how you ac- 
cuse me. I know how to seek redress.” 

Durand cooled down, but his whole frame 
quivered with latent emotion. 

“ Go on I ” he panted. “ Explain your 
claims.” 

“Claims!” iterated Mr. Munson; “they 
are simple facts. The exact status of the 
case is I state.” 

“ But old Vernon, a wealthy man, possessed 
of an enormous estate, as his memoranda 
shows ! ” 

“ I will explain. Mr. Vernon did own all 
the real estate listed, but I find that one week 
ago, unknown to me, he executed a mortgage 
on the entire property, the villa included.” 

“ A mortgage ? ” 

“ Yes. It was made to a firm in the city.” 

“ But the ready money you refer to ?” 

“That was it.” 

*3 , 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


194 

''What was it?” queried the puzzled 
Durand. 

‘'The mortgage money. I have investi- 
gated. He positively made the mortgage. 
The records show it. He certainly received 
the money. The canceled check proves it. 
He converted it into cash. In other words, 
he loaded down the estate with a mortgage 
for fully half its value. Its income will not 
even pay the interest.” 

“Why?” 

“ Do you want a truthful reason ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“To provide against the very contingency 
that has occurred — to so cripple the estate 
temporarily, that whoever became executor, 
would have to work for his salary, keeping 
the estate in order, instead of pilfering from 
it.” 

Durand bit his lips with supressed rage at 
the lawyer’s candor. 

“ But the money ?” 

“ What money ? ” 

“ The mortgage proceeds.” 

“ That,” announced Mr. Munson, grimly, 
“has disappeared.” 

“Disappeared !” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


195 


‘‘Exactly.” 

“You say he received it? ” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

‘‘ Did he not bank it ? ” 

“No.” 

“How do you know?” 

“ I have inquired ? ” 

“ Then he hid it.” 

“ I do not know.” 

Ralph Durand sat a picture of consterna- 
tion, suspicion and chagrin. 

All his fond air-castles had been shattered 
at one fell, unexpected blow. 

Instead of being able to handle a royal 
fortune at will, he would do well if he got the 
barest living out of his guardianship during 
its term of existence. 

The hundred thousand dollars had disap- 
peared. There was no doubt but that Gideon 
Vernon had received the amount. . There 
was no doubt but that the lawyer spoke the 
truth when he said that he did not know 
what had become of it. 

Durand left the office a depressed, enraged 
man — a baffled schemer. 

In death, old Gideon Vernon's cleverness 


1 q 6 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

had baffled him more than his defiance when 
alive. 

What had Vernon done with the money ? 
Ah ! a thought came to Durand’s mind with 
the intensity of a shock. Had Gladys re- 
ceived it? 

He did not know, but he would know. 
That very day the newspapers that had 
published the initial advertisement that Dr. 
Richard Milton had shown to Jera Le Britta, 
received orders to continue it indefinitely. 

And that evening, as Durand took a rusted 
key from his pocket and made his way down 
the river shore, bent evidently upon some 
mysterious mission, he muttered, hopefully: 

“ The advertisement will bring her back. 
She will come if she thinks her lover is in 
danger. Then for the truth. Gladys Vernon 
certainly knows what has become of that 
hundred thousand dollars, and I — I must 
find it — I must, I will possess it ! ” 


THE CHRONiClE OF A CAMERA. 




Chapter XXV. 

FOUND AND LOST. 

Jera Le Britta had faced some startling 
surprises in his eventful career, but the scene 
that greeted his senses in the studio where 
he had been engaged in photographing his 
fellow-knights, fairly electrified him. 

One glance at the lady in the chair, one 
penetrating, half-frightened look in return, 
and, as has been said, the woman sank faint- 
ing to the floor. 

It was the photographer, and not Le Britta, 
who sprang to her rescue. The latter was 
too overcome to act for the moment. Over- 
whelmed, he stared fixedly at the white, 
beautiful face of the fair creature, who had 
gone down under some severe mental shock* 

Then his surprised lips framed a single 
word — 

Gladys ! ” 

Yes, it was she, Gladys Vernon, the heiress 
of Hawthorne villa, the refugee — victim of 
Ralph Durand’s cruel power ; the heart- 
broken fiancee of Sydney Vance! 

How had she come here ? What fate had 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


198 

sent her across the path of the man who had 
sought her so vainly, face to face, at a crit- 
ical moment in the destiny of all concerned in 
the strange case, where villainy and avarice 
were waging a merciless battle against inno- 
cence and right ? 

Before Le Britta had fiilly regained his 
wits, the photographer had summoned a lady 
assistant. The insensible girl was removed 
to an inner apartment, the excited and breath- 
less Le Britta sank to a chair. 

He could only wait. The photographer, 
immersed in business, had ordered his assist- 
ant to do all in her power to resuscitate the 
insensible girl. From the waiting-room two 
other ladies had also gone to the aid of 
Gladys, and from excited, disjointed bits of 
conversation, Le Britta comprehended that 
Gladys Vernon was a new subordinate mem- 
ber of the dramatic company which was being 
photographed, and to which his friend had 
previously referred. 

“ I see it all,” he murmured. “ She fled 
from home — she sought to earn her own 
living. She hoped to put to account her 
rare elocutionary powers in the dramatic line, 
she hoped, doubtless, under a new guise, an 


the chronicle of a camera. igg 

assumed name, to hide her identity ; ” and as 
Le Britta learned that the company was on 
its way to California, he discerned that 
Gladys’ determination to hide herself was a 
fixed one. 

“She ventured to remain somewhere near 
to Hawthorne villa disguised on the stage, 
veiled on the street. She probably reluct- 
antly consented to have her picture taken, 
because she could not very well evade it. 
She saw me. The shock of recognition 
overcame her, and she fainted away. Thank 
heaven I have found her, though,” ruminated 
Le Britta. “ I will save her from a life of 
drudgery and loneliness, she shall come 
under my wife’s gentle ministrations until it 
is safe for her to reappear to her friends — 
she shall hear all I have to tell. I will win 
her to realize the folly of flight, I will protect, 
advise her as a friend, a brother.” 

Half an hour went by. Le Britta began 
to grow impatient. The photographer was 
too occupied to talk with him. At last, Le 
Britta advanced to the door of the room into 
which Gladys Vernon had been carried. 

He tapped lightly. No reply. He pressed 
the knob. The room beyond was untenanted. 


200 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

Startled, he entered it. A door at its 
other end stood open. At its threshold the 
assistant confronted him. 

“The girl — the young lady who was 
here } ” spoke Le Britta, hurriedly. 

“ Which one ? ” 

“The lady who fainted.” 

“ She is gone.” 

Gone ! ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When — where ? ” 

“ Fully twenty minutes since. She recov- 
ered, begged of her friends to get her away 
from here, and — they went. 

“What way? To the ‘Street, while I sat 
dumbly waiting ! ” exclaimed Le Britta, con- 
cernedly. “ She wishes to evade me ; she is 
determined that she will not see her friends. 
Poor child ! Amid her terror and uncertainty, 
she flies from those who have her interests at 
heart. But I must find her, and at once ! ” 

“Easily said — difficult of execution! It 
took Jera Le Britta an hour to find out at 
which of the crowded hotels the dramatic 
company was stopping. 

He learned that it had disbanded tempora- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CaMERA. ^ot 

rily, to reorganize in San Francisco in two 
weeks. 

Departing in sections) by different routes, 
for different cities of visitation, ere the jour- 
ney began, he was utterly at a loss to trace 
Gladys and her new-found friends. Special 
trains were being run for the day to the con- 
clave, and the railroad officials were busy, 
confused and unsatisfactory in their answers 
to his anxious queries. 

“It is useless to follow the many blind 
trails suggested/’ he decided. “If I found 
her, would she consent to abandon her evi- 
dent determination to remain away from 
home while that villain, Durand, is in power 
To San Francisco she is surely gone. There 
she can be found later. It would take half- 
a-dozen detectives to hunt her up just now. 
I am worried, but she is comparatively safe. 
I have no right to control her movements. I 
will work at the case until I get a clear deck 
for action — until she can safely return ; then 
she will not refuse. 

Thus Le Britta tried to decide, but an 
hour later his anxiety for Gladys Vernon 
overcame his former judgment. Inquiry had 
given him a new clue. He had met the 


202 the CHROHICLE OF A CAMERA. 

manager of the dramatic company. By 
describing Gladys’ two lady companions 
at the photograph studio, he was enabled to 
learn that they were the soubrette and the 
leading lady of the company. 

‘'They started for St. Louis an hour ago,” 
spoke the manager. “Is it something im- 
portant.” 

“ Yes. I have a very vital message for the 
lady who is with them.” 

“ Oh ! Miss Raven ? the new lady who has 
engaged to play some minor parts.” 

That meant Gladys, and Le Britta nodded 
affirmatively. 

“I don’t think she went with them to 
St. Louis. I am quite certain not.” 

“Can you find out?” asked Le Britta, 
anxiously. 

“ Yes. Come back in two hours.” 

In two hours Le Britta returned. 

The manager had word for him. 

“ I telegraphed to the leading lady on the 
train — had a dispatch sent and delivered at 
a junction,” he explained. 

“And her reply? ” 

“ Here it is. You can read it for yourself.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


203 

Le Britta surveyed the reply message at- 
tentively and with expectation. 

It blighted his hopes, and made the where- 
abouts of Gladys Vernon more a matter of 
doubt than ever. 

For it read : 

“Miss Raven did not leave city with us. 
She stated that she would leave company 
and return to her home.” 

“Return to her home?” repeated the 
mystified Le Britta. “That cannot be — she 
would not do that — where can she have 
gone ? ” 

The long day through he sought for 
Gladys Vernon, but did not find her. Even- 
tide brought no solution to the mystery of 
her whereabouts, and that evening Jera Le 
Britta appeared at the hotel that was the 
headquarters of his friends, with a wearied 
and a heavy heart. 

He had dismissed the thought of person- 
ally tracing down Gladys Vernon for the 
present, and had gone to a local detective 
agency late in the afternoon. 

Le Britta had no idea of mixing up the 
police with a case where secrecy and family 
respectability were important elements, and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


204 

he had so informed the officer who was de- 
tailed to consult with him. * 

“I come to you on a complicated case/’ 
Le Britta had said, “but I ask you only to 
consider one phase of it. A young lady has 
disappeared. I wish to learn where she has 
gone — how and when she left the city.” 

Le Britta therewith detailed the connec- 
tion of Gladys Vernon with the dramatic 
company, and gave a description of her. 

He told the officer where he would be 
found until the following morning, and then 
made his way to the hotel. 

His friends greeted him with reproaches 
for his neglect of them, but good-naturedly, 
and soon the influence of friendly banter and 
jovial companionship dispelled the clouds of 
anxiety that oppressed Le Britta’s fnind. 

For the time being, engaged in discussions 
of art and of conclave matters, he forgot 
Gladys Vernon. He was the enthusiastic 
artist once more, in love with his profession, 
and ably defending his theories in regard to 
the best lines followed in producing and per- 
fecting pictures, as he talked with several fel- 
low-members of his craft. 

Quite a coterie had gathered about him in 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


205 

the lobby of the hotel, as he became engaged 
in an interesting argument regarding sensi- 
tive printing. Then lodge matters super- 
vened, and the evening drifted away, indus- 
triously and satisfactorily spent. 

Le Britta had gone to his room, and was 
about to retire for the night, when there was 
a tap on the door. 

He answered the summons, to find one of 
the servants of the hotel in waiting, with a 
card. 

“ Richard Dunbar,” he read, and he re- 
membered that to be the name of the detect- 
ive he had engaged. 

Le Britta hurried below. He found the 
brisk, business-like officer awaiting him. 

“ You have something to report ? ” queried 
Le Britta, anxiously. 

‘^Yes.” 

“ You have found a clue ? ” 

“We have accomplished what you wished. 
We have traced the girl.” 

“ And found her ? ” 

“No. Our labors end with learning how 
she left the city — where she went.” 

“ Yes, J understand that.” 

“ Miss Raven, as you call her, after leav- 


2o6 the chronicle of a camera. 

ing the photographer’s studio, returned to 
the Palace hotel.” 

“Where the dramatic company was stay- 
mg?" 

“ Exactly.” 

“ And then ? ” 

“ She took her satchel and hurried to the 
railroad depot.” 

“ Which one ? ” 

“ The Central line. She purchased a 
ticket;” and in a few concise words the detec- 
tive developed the fact that she had secured 
transportation for the station nearest to 
Hawthorne villa”. 

Le Britta could scarcely credit the infor- 
mation. Gladys gone home; Gladys re- 
turned to Hawthorne villa ! 

Why, if that was her destination, a deci- 
sion undoubtedly forced by Le Britta^s 
recognition of her, had she fled from him ? 

With all her dread of Ralph Durand, why 
should she return to the place where he 
would at once enforce his power of guardian- 
ship ? 

“ I cannot understand it,” murmured Le 
Britta, as he paid the detective and walked 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


207 

out thoughtfully upon the street. “There is 
some mystery here.” 

He tried to analyze the motives that would 
actuate Gladys in a resolve to abandon her 
dramatic career, and go back to face the fate 
from which she had so recently fled. 

For over an hour he reflected seriously 
over the case. He could not get it out of his 
mind. 

More than once he told himself that he 
was exceeding his duty to himself and others 
in assuming so much anxiety and trouble for 
a comparative stranger, but his better nature 
discarded the suggestion, and he resolved to 
figure out the difficult problem, to find 
Gladys Vernon if possible. 

Was it not probable that, fearing she would 
be followed by Le Britta, Gladys had pur- 
chased the ticket for home to throw him off 
the trail ? 

Scarcely. Her candid ingenuous nature 
was too guileless for that. 

‘^The case is certainly arriving at a critical 
climax,” soliquized Le Britta. “There must 
soon.be some developments. The tramp in 
charge of Doctor Milton, the secret regarding 
the treasure in the ravine — these are formid- 


2o8 chronicle of a camera. 

able interests in the affair, but this girl, a 
refugee, homeless, affrighted — oh ! I wish I 
could find her, to explain that friends are act- 
ing in her behalf, that her absence compli- 
cates the matter, and places us at a disad- 
vantage. Mercy ! ^/la^ is the key to the 
• enigma.” 

Le Britta started violently. Of a sudden 
a quick suggestion had come to his mind. 
In a flash he discerned the truth. 

“ Why ! ” he exclaimed, with a gasp of 
comprehension, I never thought of it ! 
Gladys Vernon has returned home — she 
saw Ralph Durand’s advertisement. 


Chapter XXVI. 

BLOCKED. 

The next train on the Central left in two 
hours. Le Britta’s decision had been quickly 
suggested and formed — he would go to 
Hawthorne villa. 

There he was certain he would find Gladys 
Vernon. Thither he was positive the home- 
less orphan had returned. 

When Gladys had fled from her home, she 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


209 

believed her lover, Sydney Vance, to be a 
fugitive. The advertisement inserted in the 
newspapers by Ralph Durand proved that he 
was in the power of that villainous plotter, at 
least that Durand knew of his whereabouts. 

That carefully-worded initial advertise- 
ment contained a terrible threat for the 
frantic fugitive. If she would save her 
lover’s life, she had better return at once to 
Hawthorne villa, it suggested. 

What more natural, therefore, than that 
she had so decided to do. Unequal to a 
strife where villainy held the whip-hand, 
Gladys had heart brokenly abandoned the 
contest. Before Le Britta could reach Haw- 
thorne villa to intercept her, to warn her, she 
would have placed herself under the baleful 
power of the miscreant, Ralph Durand! 

Le Britta took the train with an oppressed 
heart. Some how, he felt that he was going 
to meet disaster, that, armed with some 
power not yet fully developed, Durand would 
drive him from the field completely at their 
next interview. He had started on a quest, 
however, and he would not abandon it, and 
he settled himself down in a seat to reflect, 
to formulate his plan of proceedure if he 


210 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


found Gladys an inmate of the villa, when a 
hand slapped him familiarly on the shoulder. 

“Hello, Le Britta ! ” spoke a bluff, hearty 
voice, and its owner pressed into the seat 
without ceremony. 

It proved to be one of the visitors to the 
conclave, who, like Le Britta, was a photog- 
rapher. They had met that day, and some 
moments were consumed in mutually explain- 
ing how neither intended remaining for the 
last day’s exercises. 

Le Britta did not feel much like talking, 
but his companion was not to be rebuffed. 
He was a photographer of the old school, and 
while he was forced to acknowledge Le 
Britta’s superior genius from the results it 
had manifestly attained, they never met but he 
forced a heated and lengthy discussion as to 
the merits and demerits of their respective 
systems. 

“ Well, Le Britta,” spoke the man, as they 
drifted into their usual theme of discussion, 
“ you still hold to your old idea that photog- 
raphy is an art ? ” 

“You know me too well to doubt it.” 

“And I continue to hold to the theory that 
it is a business. I hold that certain processes 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 2 I I 

produce certain results ; invariably conditions, 
and results remain constant. Give me a 
camera, I give you a picture. If people 
want fine effects of light and shade, elegant 
surroundings depicted, and all that, let them 
hire a portrait-painter. Photography is a 
business. Tact and talent to advertise, to 
catch custom, is the key-note of success. A 
woman wants a picture of her child. I take 
it. You high-toned fellows make it look like 
an angel — pearly complexion, sparkling eyes, 
unnatural pose, emotional features. What’s 
the use of all that flummery ? It makes more 
work, and a picture is a picture, if it shows 
the face, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Le Britta, with a dry smile. 
“You might cover yourself with a suit of 
clothes cut out with a hatchet, but you 
wouldn’t look well. You photograph a face 
in a blur of hideous brown, or an ugly back- 
ground of antiquated screen-work. The face 
is there, that is true, but robbed of all attrac- 
tions. I aim to have all the accessories in 
perfection, I believe in making the counter- 
feit presentment a gem, a treasure. Here is 
what perfect light can do, here is what proper 
posing can effect, here is what the right de- 


2 I 2 the chronicle OF A CAMERA. ' 

velopment of the negative can do. Step by 
step I try not to rob the picture of natural- 
ness, but to enhance its naturality, to tone 
down harsh lines, to soften and illuminate. 
What is the result ? We educate people up 
to a higher appreciation of the service, we 
cultivate the uncultured, we banish botch- 
work, and make of the family photograph ' 
album a gallery that vies with steel-plate 
range in fineness, nicety of execution, and 
gloss of finish. I tell you, my friend, that 
not one detail, from the merest shade on the 
hair to the printing on the back of the picture, 
should be neglected.” 

“ All right,” was the quick reply. ‘'You 
please people, you educate them — what for ? 
To make them demand more, the more they 
get. You produce fine pictures, they expect 
finer ones. You give them too much for 
their money. Why, Le Britta ! a photog- 
rapher of the class you represent has to 
think, study, work — be an artist and busi- 
ness man in one. It don't pay ” 

'Tt does pay!” interrupted Le Britta, 
pointedly. “There is a compensation in it 
all. We give the public better work at less 
money than in the past ; for what reason ? 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


213 

Because invention has aided us in the mis- 
sion. We are not only working for our 
patrons, but for ourselves. Every step we 
advance, we learn. Every experiment we 
succeed in is for our benefit, and that of the 
world as well. It is all well enough to make 
money, but how much greater to score a vic- 
tory as an inventor, an improver, to give to 
the world some new process, some original 
discovery that beautifies or instructs ? Look 
at the new photographic colors, the ’latest 
processes, the advancement in manipulating 
emulsions, the new ways of developing nega- 
tives, the benefit of sensitive printing paper ! 
Why ! I myself am experimenting on a new 
gelatine printing paper that will practically 
revolutionize the art in that line. You stick 
to the albumen paper, I suppose ? Why ? 
Because you blindly persist in shutting your 
eyes to newer modes. You are ten years 
behind the times. Some day,, a bright, ener- 
getic new-process man will come to your 
town, open a rival establishment, and you 
will have to learn what I am forgetting, or 
abandon the business.” 

Le Britta talked on his pet theme for half 


214 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

an hour, enthusiastically. His auditor was 
silenced. 

“I begin to think I am a bit stubborn,” he 
admitted, finally ; '‘ but how do you keep 
posted on all these new wrinkles ? 

“ By studying all current literature on the 
subject, by keeping in correspondence with 
the lights of the profession, by emulating 
and excelling the leaders in the photographic 
art ; most of all, by being in touch and har- 
mony with the Association.” 

“ What Association ? ” 

“The P. A. of A.” 

“Oh! you mean” 

“The Photographers’ Association of 
America.” 

“ Bah ! A regular mutual admiration 
society. I don’t allow any set of men to 
dictate to me.” 

“Dictate? Why, man I join it, and, if 
you have a bright idea, the various members 
will be glad to have you dictate to them. I 
tell you, these photographers’ conventions are 
a place where a man learns — an annual love- 
feast of the profession that every live man 
should attend. What are they? An aggrega- 
tion of men with progressive ideas, eager for 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


215 

an interchange of sentiment, a great body 
that formulates the trivial ideas of the art into 
definite, centralized form, so as to devote 
time and attention to grander themes. You 
should attend just one convention ! Here is 
a man with a paper on back grounds — the 
result of careful thought, study and investi- 
gation. Here is another with specimens of 
flash-light work. It is studied, analyzed, it 
instructs, it gives new ideas, it makes you 
feel that you are not simply an isolated 
picture-taker, but one of a great body of 
active, intelligent men, who get out of them- 
selves once a year in a harmonious exchange 
of sentiment and opinion, and return to 
routine work benefited, spurred on to do 
something great for the advance of art and 
the elevation and culture of the masses. The 
man who pretends to be an adept photog- 
rapher, and is not a member of the associa- 
tion, is certainly outside a charmed circle that 
to-day surrounds the world with a chain 
decked with the finest jewels of art, inven- 
tion and progress.” 

Whether the enthusiastic peroration con- 
vinced his companion, Le Britta did not find 


2 i 6 the chronicle of a camera. 

out, for the station nearest to Hawthorne 
villa was reached as he barely concluded. 

He felt refreshed at getting away from 
brooding anxiety concerning Gladys Vernon, 
however, even if temporarily, and he walked 
toward the Vernon mansion in the early morn- 
ing light with a clear head and fixed plans as 
to his intentions. 

“ Perhaps Gladys has gone to the lawyer 
or the doctor,” he ruminated. “ I will make 
the villa my first point of progress, however. 
Ah ! the servants are stirring,” he continued, 
as he neared the house. 

Le Britta advanced up the steps and rang 
the bell. The echoes had scarcely died away 
when the door was opened. 

Ralph Durand had answered his ring. His 
face was flushed with drink, his eyes heavy 
and dull, as if he had been making a night of 
it. He scowled darkly. Then his face 
lighted up with a cunning, sinister expression. 

Good ! The picture-taker ! ” he jeered. 
“ Ah ! I understand. You are a quick actor, 
my friend. You came here to find Gladys 
Vernon, my ward. You traced her here ? ” 

“ She is here, then ?” breathed Le Britta. 

“Yes, she is here. Come in. There is 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


217 

no use quarreling with you, for I see a 
way to settle the whole affair speedily. You 
won’t call in a hurry again ! Come in, I say ! ” 
And he led the way to the library. '‘Now, 
then, sit down.” 

Le Britta regarded his host uneasily — this 
reception of him boded no favorable results. 
There was a complacent, satisfied look in 
Durand’s face that showed that he felt san- 
guine on some new development of affairs. 

He lit a cigar, dashed off a glass of liquor, 
and smiled familiarly and with insolent assur- 
ance at his unexpected visitor. 

“I’m right in supposing you have been 
looking for Gladys Vernon ?” he began. . 

“ Yes,” replied Le Britta, “ I ' certainly 
have.” 

“ And you traced her here ? ” 

“ I supposed she had come here, yes,” ad- 
mitted the photographer. 

“ You were right.” 

“ When ? ” 

“A few hours since.” 

“ And she is here now ? ” 

“ She is. See. here, my friend, we will 
settle this whole affair here and now. There 
has been row and trouble enough. It will do 


2i8 the chronicle of a camera. 

no good to make any more. You may hound 
me down, employ detectives and all that, but 
I am in a position to defy you. You can pos- 
itively prove nothing against me. As exec- 
utor of the Vernon fortune, as guardian of 
Gladys Vernon, I take formal possession of 
Hawthorne villa to-day. That shuts out pry- 
ing investigation and interference. You have 
sought for Gladys Vernon, she is here. You 
have sought for her former lover, Sydney 
Vance. You will never find him. You have 
tried to connect me with the murder of Gid- 
eon Vernon — a vain effort. You will return 
home and abandon your meddling interfer- 
ence now, I hope, for it will not avail you 
longer. Affairs have come to a basis.” 

“What do you mean by a basis?” de- 
manded Le Britta. 

“I mean that Gladys Vernon has seen the 
folly of her ways, has decided to obey her 
dead uncle’s injunctions, and remain under 
this roof until she has attained her majority.” 

Jera Le Britta looked dismayed. The 
statement seemed incredible, and yet the 
plotter spoke confidently. 

“You tell me this truthfully?” he de- 
manded. 


219 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

‘‘Ido/’ 

“ Gladys is here, returned of her own free 
will/' 

“Yes.” 

“And consents to remain here willingly ? ” 

“ She does.” 

I can scarcely credit it ! ” 

“ Ask her then.” 

“ Eh ! ” ejaculated Le Britta, with a hopeful 
start. “I may see her?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ I may talk with her ? ” 

“As much as you wish.” 

Le Britta had aroused to quick hope at the 
idea of seeing Gladys and conversing with 
her. 

His heart sank, however, at the malignant 
triumph that glowed in Ralph Durand’s 
face, predicting that he had some sinister de- 
sign hidden under his new mask of ready 
acquiescence to the demands of an enemy. 

Ralph Durand had proceeded to the door 
of the next room. His hand on the knob, 
he lingered. 

“You wish to see Miss Vernon,” he 
spoke, assuming a cool dignity of manner so 


220 the chronicle OE A CAMERA. 

foreign to his usual demeanor, that it was 
ominously menacing. 

“Yes,” replied Le Britta. 

Durand bowed and retired. He returned 
at the end of five minutes — five anxious, 
fluttering moments of suspense to the pho- 
tographer. 

“ Gladys — Miss Vernon.” 

Jera Le Britta started forward eagerly. A 
great cry of joy escaped his lips as the door 
opened and Gladys Vernon appeared, Durand 
following her. 

Her face was pale, her eyes downcast. 
Like one bound by a spell, under the domin- 
ion of some powerful tyrant, she did not look 
up. Her lips, tightly pressed, seemed to 
shut in the emotion that was tugging at her 
heart-strings. 

“Wait!” cried Durand, in a mandatory 
tone, sharp, clear, resonant, as Le Britta was 
about to glide forward and seize Gladys’ 
hand. “ Miss Vernon is exhausted by a long 
journey. She bids me speak for her. Is it 
not so, Gladys ? ” 

The fair young girl shuddered slightly. 
Then, with icy, impenetrable reserve she 
nodded. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 22 1 

I told her you were here,” continued the 
miscreant. “ I have asked her if she wished 
to see you. Her answer was — no ! ” 

“ I do not believe it ! She is under some 
terrible constraint ! ” burst forth Le Britta, 
excitedly. “Gladys! Miss Vernon ! speak! 
I am your friend, the friend of your friends. 

I wish to tell you ” 

He paused. Gladys Vernon had lifted her 
haunted, pained eyes to his face. 

“ Go,” she spoke, in a low, wailing voice. 
“ I do not wish to discuss the past. I have 
chosen my future. If you are my true friend, 
leave here, now and forever, for I shall refuse 
to see you again ! ” 

And then, half-reeling, she turned from the 
room, leaving the petrified Le Britta over- 
come with consternation and despair. 


Chapter XXVII. 

AT THE VILLA. 

Jera Le Britta left Hawthorne villa with 
a depressed heart one hour after his arrival 
there. 

The mournful words of Gladys Vernon had 


22 2 the chronicle OF A CAMERA. 

been decisive, the calm, mock-civil demeanor 
of Ralph Durand stinging as the cut of a 
whip. The miscreant had triumphed com- 
pletely, and the photographer was bound to 
acknowledge the fact. 

Le Britta, with bowed head and thoughtful 
mien walked sadly toward the village. He 
found the lawyer at his home, and was soon 
closeted with him in his library. 

I have just come from Hawthorne villa,” 
was Le Britta’s first statement, and the lawyer 
was at once interested. 

“You have arrived at an opportune 
season,” spoke Mr. Munson. “I have much 
to tell you.” 

“ Concerning Durand, I suppose.” 

“Yes.” 

“You know that Gladys has returned to 
Hawthorne villa? ” 

“What!” 

The lawyer started as if dealt a sudden 
blow. 

Le Britta rapidly detailed his efforts to 
trace the heiress of Hawthorne villa, and the 
result of his late interview. 

The narration petrified the lawyer. 

can scarcely believe it !” he murmured^ 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 223 

‘‘ Gladys returned to Hawthorne villa ! Why ! 
if that is so, and I can only talk with 

her ” 

“ She will refuse.” 

Refuse to converse with an old friend, her 
dead uncle’s counselor ? ” 

‘' Yes, for Durand will compel her to do so. 
Do you not understand yet how subtle and 
far-reaching are the plots of this consum- 
mate villain ? There is but one theory to 
advance on.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“The certainty that he has Gladys Ver- 
non’s lover, Sydney Vance, in his power.” 

“ A prisoner ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“Then” 

“ I theorize that he has him hidden some- 
where in the vicinity of the villa, or in the 
hands of paid emissaries at a distance. Fur- 
ther, he has convinced Gladys that this is so. 
She saw the advertisements he published. 
While she would never have returned will- 
ingly, the dread that her lover might be mur- 
dered, surrendered up to justice, completely 
overcame her. She returned to Hawthorne 
villa.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


224 

''And that villain, Durand 

“Forced her to agree to carry out his 
wishes.” 

“ Which are ? ” 

“To refuse .our friendly offers of assist- 
ance.” 

“ I see.” 

“ To remain there with seeming willing- 
ness.” 

The lawyer reflected deeply. His face 
grew stern. He related the discovery about 
the missing hundred thousand dollars. 

Le Britta was surprised, but enlightened. 
He understood now what the treasure 
amounted to which the tramp had located in 
the ravine. 

“Then,” he said, “if the missing money 
is not found, Durand is beaten completely ? ” 

“No, he is only handicapped.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Why, if that amount of ready cash was 
in his possession, he would begin his fraudu- 
lent operations at once. He would pretend 
to invest with the aid of accomplices, he 
would dissipate the money, seemingly legally, 
but in reality to get it eventually into his 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


225 

own hands. As it is, the scheme will take 
more time to work.” 

How?” 

“He will claim that the mortgage cripples 
him ; that he has not sufficient means to pay 
interest and living expenses. He will sell 
the mining property at a ruinous sacrifice, 
the villa, every thing, any thing, in fact, to 
handle ready cash.” 

“ But that will take time.” 

“ Yes.” 

“And time is all I ask! ” spoke Le Britta, 
with determined eyes. “He holds the upper 
hand now. Wait!” 

Le Britta did not enlighten the lawyer as 
to his intentions, nor concerning his dis- 
covery of the hiding-place of the treasure. 

He wished to investigate that branch of 
the case alone. More than that, he resolved, 
in case he found the money, to withhold it 
from Durand’s hands, if he had to retain per- 
sonal secret possession of it until Gladys 
came of age. 

He correctly and readily surmised that one 
motive Durand had in wishing Gladys’ return 
was to learn of the missing money, and he 
wondered what Durand’s next move would 


2 26 the chronicle of a camera. 

be, when he ascertained that the heiress was 
entirely ignorant concerning it. 

The lawyer had arrived at a commonplace 
decision that they could only wait until some- 
thing had developed, but Le Britta left him 
with a far more serious and definite thought 
in his mind. 

He had but one hope of ultimately defeat- 
ing all the plots of Ralph Durand, and that 
was based on the recovery of the tramp. In 
case Doctor Milton brought him through his 
illness, and in case, furthermore, the tramp 
would give his evidence against Durand, the 
affair was ended. 

Then Gladys Vernon would forever be free 
from the plotters wiles, Sydney Vance might 
return and face his fellow-men once more, 
and the efforts of the photographer to right a 
great wrong would be crowned with success. 

But the tramp might not recover. If he 
did it might be too late. Durand was no 
lax schemer. He had Gladys Vernon in his 
power. Suppose he should force the girl to 
wed him ; suppose he should dispose of 
what little wealth the mortgage had left in 
sight ; suppose he should do away with Syd- 
ney Vance, for the testimony of the latter 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


227 

on the witness-stand would alone convict 
Durand, were it not that Vance was himself 
suspected of the crime of killing old Gideon 
Vernon ? 

“ The tramp is safe with Doctor Milton,’' 
mused Le Britta, “ the hidden money is in 
the ravine, and I hold the clue to its where- 
abouts. Sydney Vance is the element of 
mystery in the case. How can I get an 
inkling as to his place of incarceration ? ” 

Le Britta was wearied from his long quest, 
and, going to the hotel, he sought the rest 
he so needed. 

At nightfall he started again for Haw- 
thorne villa. He approached it by a cir- 
cuitious route, for his inspection of the 
mansion was to be a covert one. 

He had decided to watch at a distance, in 
the hopes of seeing Durand, theorizing that 
if Sydney Vance was anywhere in the vicin- 
ity, the plotter might go to visit him, and, by 
following, he might locate the refugee and 
captive. 

After remaining in the neighborhood for 
over an hour, Le Britta became impatient. 
There had not been the slightest trace of 
activity about the villa — no lights, no serv- 


228 the chronicle of a camera. 

ants visible. He came nearer to the house. 
It was closely shuttered. He penetrated the 
grounds, he even peered in at unguarded 
windows. There was no sign of life about 
the gloomy place. 

Just leaving the grounds, he came* to a 
halt as a carriage and two horses came toil- 
ing along the sandy road. 

He recognized the driver on the box — it 
was the steward whom Ralph Durand had 
employed a few days previous, and as he dis- 
mounted to open the iron gates he spied Le 
Britta. 

‘‘ Looking for anybody } ” he queried, in a 
suspicious tone of voice. 

“Yes,” Le Britta was forced to say, “Mr. 
Durand.” 

“ Oh, him ! He’s gone.” 

“ Gone, where ? ” 

“Away on business. I just drove him 
over country to catch an east-bound train. 
He’s ordered me to close the villa for the 
next month. He won’t be back for some 
time.” 

“ Where will a letter reach him ? ” ventured 
Le Britta. 

“Address in my care,” was the keen re- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


229 

sponse. “ Say, I know you, and I know 
what you’re after — a trace of Miss Vernon. 
Well, I’ve this to say to you, and that ends 
it — she’s been sent to some friends by Mr. 
Durand, several hundred miles from here, 
and you won’t be very likely to find her by 
seeking.” 

As he spoke, the man coolly led his horses 
into the grounds, and closed the gates on the 
dismayed Le Britta. 

Ralph Durand had scored another victory. 
He had got the whole game i-n his hands, 
and had covered his tracks by a timely disap- 
pearance. 

‘‘Beaten — thrown off the trail!” mur- 
mured Le Britta, slowly walking down the 
road. “ I can do positively nothing. Gladys 
has been spirited away, Vance, too, probably, 
and, at a distance, Durand will mature his 
plans, whatever they may be. A month 1 
Why ! in that time the scoundrel may force 
Gladys to marry him, dispose of Vance, real- 
ize on the mortgaged real estate, and so com- 
plicate affairs as to leave nothing but wreck 
and ruin in his wake. I give it up at last, I 
have tried to help the poor girl, and ” 

Le Britta paused abruptly and started with 


^30 tub chronicle of a camera. 

a shock, for at just that moment a wild form 
rushed down the road, fairly colliding with 
him. 

Then, with a quick, excited ejaculation, the 
new-comer grabbed Le Brittas arm, and 
peered into his face, keenly and excitedly. 

“ Tve found you — good ! 

Le Britta started and thrilled, for, wonder 
of wonders ! the speaker was — Dr. Richard 
Milton ! 


Chapter XXVIII. 

GONE ! 

The last man in the world Jera Le Britta 
would have expected to see at Hawthorne 
villa. Dr. Richard Milton, gazed fixidly at 
his friend. 

The photographer was almost too aston- 
ished to speak, but he managed to gasp forth: 

Dick— Doctor, Dick! What in the 
world ” 

‘‘ Brought me here ? 

Yes.” 

After you.” 

“After me 1 ” 


The chronicle of a camera. 23 i 

Exactly, I have been looking everywhere 
for you.” 

^‘Why” 

Doctor Milton took his companion’s arm 
and walked on with him. 

I followed you to the city,” he explained. 

I found you had left the conclave, I imag- 
ined you had come here, not having gone 
home. What news, Jera?” 

Le Britta felt positive that his friend had 
some important disclosure to make, but he 
repressed his curiosity and suspense and 
briefly narrated the developments in the Ver- 
non case since last they had met. 

The doctor was an interested listener, a 
startled one too, as he learned of the last 
move on the part of Ralph Durand. 

“ The scoundrel has indeed check-mated 
your every move,” he commented. ''It’s 
plain to me what his plans are.” 

" Then you think ? ” 

" That he has terrorized Gladys Vernon 
completely, has removed her to some secluded 
retreat, where she will be a virtual prisoner 
in the hands of paid emissaries, that he 
has removed the lover Vance likewise to 
a new prison-place. He holds Vance’s life 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


232 

and liberty in his keeping-. By this means 
he silences the girl. Meantime he will pro- 
ceed to negotiate a sale on the mortgaged 
property unhampered by the girl’s interfer- 
ence, probably armed with her written con- 
sent to do so, and without fear of you or her 
other friends troubling him.” 

“ But the ready money, the fortune, the 
hundred thousand dollars — he has not that ! ” 
No, he has probably considered that as 
lost to him.’^ 

And we have it — we know where it is ! ” 
No, I fear we do not,” interrupted Doctor 
Milton, seriously. 

“ Eh ? Why ! what do you mean, Dick ?” 

Le Britta came to a sudden standstill, and 
viewed his friend with a startled look, for the 
voice and manner of the latter had grown 
decidedly ominous. 

“ It was that money — that hidden treasure 
of old Gideon Vernon’s that brought me 
down here.” 

“The money — the hidden treasure?” 

"Yes.” 

"Why?” 

“ It is in danger ! ” 

“The treasure in danger!” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


233 


Decidedly so.’' 

'' I do not understand you.” 

“The patient.” 

“ You mean the tramp ? ” 

“Exactly. You know the condition yoti 
left him in — delirious. Well, that next day 
he got suddenly better. The case perplexed 
me. One hour he would be rational, the 
next raving. I encouraged the former mood, 
even to the taxing of his vitality, and began 
to administer a strong stimulant. Yesterday 
evening he was sleeping quietly when I left 
him. I went to call on a patient. When I 
returned ” 

Doctor Milton paused impressively and 
sighed — a troubled, anxious sigh. 

“ When I returned,” he repeated, in con- 
clusion, “the tramp was — gone!” 

“ Gone I ” cried Le Britta, with a violent 
start and in blank wonderment, “you mean !” 

“ Disappeared.” 

“Then he had escaped?’’ 

“ Rather, gone away. With him was miss- 
ing the bottle from which I had administered 
the stimulating medicine. I am now satisfied 
that the tramp had possessed his senses all 
day. He watched me. He realized his situation. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


234 

His wounded arm was no detriment to getting 
around. It was the fever, the frequent fits 
of delirium that bothered him, and his weak- 
ness. I believe he recalled how he had im- 
parted his secret to us. I think he regretted 
it. At all events, he had arisen, dressed 
himself, and taking the stimulant and a bottle 
of brandy with him, had disappeared.” 

“ You followed him ” 

“ I tried to. At first I thought he had 
wandered away in delirium. I never imag- 
ined he could go far in his terribly weak con- 
dition. Then in a flash, I thought of an 
impelling motive for his flight — the hidden 
treasure. I knew not of the success or fail- 
ure of your efforts to secure a copy of the 
missing half of his written secret. I had men 
search in the vicinity of my office and 
throughout the town. No trace. I started 
for the conclave after you. I hoped to find 
you here, and here I came. That is how I 
happen to be here.” 

The doctor’s graphic story bewildered and 
yet a/oused Le Britta. 

His eyes scintillated with anxiety and ex- 
citement. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


235 

“ Dick ! ” he ejaculated, we must find that 
man.” 

I should say so ! ” 

“ You think he came here ? ” 

I think he started for here.” 

'' In quest of the hidden treasure ? ” 

What else ? ” 

“ He may have fallen by the way.” 

“That is probable, but this is the end of 
the trail to guard. Possibly I am here 
ahead of him. He would have to travel 
slowly. There is no doubt in my mind but 
that he has changed his mind, and, his 
strength returned and his old covetousness 
revived, he wishes to secure the treasure.” 

“ We must stop him ! ” 

“Rather anticipate him. You see, Le 
-Britta, he may not have arrived. If we 
secure the treasure or find it intact, one of us 
will remain at the spot where it is hidden and 
await the tramp’s coming. The other, if he 
does not soon arrive, will go back toward 
home, and try to find him on the way hither.” 

“ Dick ! you are a jewel to plan ! ” spoke 
Le Britta, gratefully. “ That will be the move 
to make, for, if the tramp has his senses 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


236 

again, all the more reason than ever that, we 
keep him closely guarded and near us/’ 

“ You mean ? ” 

“That we may as soon as possible con- 
front that villain Durand with him, and clip 
his wings effectually by proving him, on the 
tramp’s clear evidence, to be the murderer 
of old Gideon Vernon ! ” 

The two friends hurried on, Le Britta lead- 
ing the way toward the nearest house. 

“ Wait here,” he said, upon reaching a 
small cottage. 

He disappeared down the graveled walk, 
and the waiting doctor heard him knock at 
the rear door. Then there was a brief par- 
ley, and Le Britta reappeared. 

“ I’ve, borrowed a lantern,” he announced, 

“Then you intend” 

“To go at once to the ravine.” 

“You think you can locate the spot?” 

“Where the treasure is secreted ? — we 
must ! ” 

“ And at night ! ” . 

“The tramp may arrive at any moment. I 
have explicit directions from the message he 
had written. I looked over the ground to- 
day, but believed the treasure to be safe 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


237 

enough for a later visit, and my thoughts 
and time were occupied with poor Gladys 
Vernon’s affairs. If we can only recover the 
tramp, her persecutions are over.” 

‘'And Ralph Durand’s just began.”. 

“Yes. Here we are. Down the path 
here — this is certainly the way Gideon 
Vernon came the night of the murder, ac- 
cording to the tramp’s statement. There is 
the large stone described. Hold the lantern. 
Here is a clump of bushes. That’s it ! Hold 
the lantern higher. Now, then, hand it 
down to me.” 

Le Britta, with the contents of the written 
key to the secret treasure well memorized, 
had led his companion down the ravine. 

Step by step he had traced out the location 
of the spot where Gideon Vernon had put 
away his ready cash fortune to prevent it fall- 
ing into unfriendly hands, and had died ere 
he could communicate the secret to his 
niece, Gladys. _ ^ 

“Here is the rock described,” spoke Le 
Britta, eagerly. “ Yes, this is the exact spot, 
but ” 

An ejaculation of consternation escaped his 
lips. Dr. Richard Milton leaned over the 


238 the chronicle of a camera. 

edge of the ravine, thrilling at its ominous 
echo. 

“What is it?'’ he queried, in suspense. 
“You have located the right spot?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And the treasure ” 

“ We are too late !” announced Le Britta, 
in a hollow tone of voice ; “ the treasure is — 

I >> 

gone ! 


Chapter XXIX. 

IN GLOOM. 

Gone ! 

Yes, the treasure was gone. The dismayed 
Le Britta knew it at a glance, the startled 
Doctor Milton realized the fact in a very few 
moments of time. 

It had been there, and recently too. The 
correct hiding-place of the fortune had been 
located. All these facts were soon verified, 
but — the situation could be summed up in 
five little words — 

They had come too late / 

The tramp. Doctor Milton’s mysterious 
patient, had preceded them. 

As Doctor Milton sprang down the rocky 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


239 

ledge to the side of his friend, and viewed 
the spot in the flickering rays of the lantern, 
he saw at a glance that there was real cause 
for anxiety and consternation. 

There lay a great flat stone overturned. 

In the soft yielding earth beneath was the 
impress of a broad wallet. 

The dirt was disturbed, and the spot 
showed evidences of a recent visit. 

At first, the two friends feared that their 
startling discovery might have some connec- 
tion with the flight of Ralph Durand. 

They momentarily chilled, as they reflected 
that he might have discovered the hiding- 
place of the fortune, have secured the treas- 
ure, and have disappeared with it. 

But, no ! Lying on the ground near the 
stone was a piece of white cloth, and, picking 
it up. Doctor Milton announced : 

The tramp was here ! 

‘‘You are sure?’' breathed Le Britta, 
anxiously. 

“ Positive." 

“Why?” 

“You see this piece of cloth?” 

“ Yes.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


240 

It is one of the bandages I placed on his 
arm.” 

Which he dropped here ? ”• 

In his rough haste in securing the treas- 
ure, yes. That is the only solution to the 
affair. The tramp has anticipated us. The 
treasure is gone.” 

Oh ! why did I not come here early this 
morning,” groaned Le Britta. 

'‘No matter about that now.” 

" We must try to find the tramp.” 

“It will be more difficult to trace a man 
unknown than a person like Ralph Durand. 
Le Britta, I fear we are at odds with fate. 
We have lost the game.” 

It looked so. Within an hour the two 
friends were at the village. 

. Promised reward spurred the town officials 
to send out their men in quest of the tramp 
as described by the photographer. 

All the next day both Le Britta and the 
doctor personally scoured the country for 
some trace of the man who had rewarded 
their kindness by carrying away a royal fort- 
une. 

Two nights later, discouraged and baffled. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


241 

the friends left the vicinity of Hawthorne 
villa. 

The doctor was nettled at being beaten ; 
Le Britta felt discouraged, disheartened. 

As a sudden storm^ sweeps a hill-top of 
verdure in a moment of time, or a swooping 
breeze changes the whole aspect of a placid 
pool, so had the past two days disintegrated 
and demolished the fabric of plot, counter- 
plot and complication which had presented 
itself as a tangible labyrinth to Le Britta. 

Not a clue was in sight. Durand had dis- 
appeared, taking with him Gladys Vernon 
and Sydney Vance. 

The tramp had secured the hidden fortune, 
and was not to be found. 

Justice slept ; the right had been defeated ; 
wrong and cunning were seemingly triumph- 
ant. 

All that Le Britta had done in the interest 
of justice had, it seemed, been of no avail. 

Home and its endearments looked dark, 
with a return signalized by disaster and 
defeat, and duty half accomplished. 

“That is the end of the Vernon case!” 
sighed Doctor Milton, as the train neared 
home. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


242 

No,” replied Le Britta, '' I cannot believe 
it. It only sleeps — we are shut out from 
further present investigation, villainy is tri- 
umphant, innocence persecuted, but — ‘the 
mills of the gods grind slowly, but they 
grind exceedingly small ! ' I feel in my 
heart that we shall yet be called upon to 
champion anew the cause of poor Gladys 
Vernon.’ I feel that yet, face to face, skill 
for skill, plot for plot, blow for blow, I shall 
meet that double-hearted scoundrel, Ralph 
Durand, and vanquish him ! ” 

Prophetic words ! The hour was to dawn, 
the great Vernon case was to be revivified, 
but at a time and in a manner little dreamed 
of by the true-hearted photographer ! 

For the present it slumbered, for the time 
being all its obscured issues were hidden 
completely from the public view. 

And Jera Le Britta resumed his duties as 
citizen, friend and a man of family, with many 
a longing thought of the lives held under the 
cruel domination of Ralph Durand’s wicked 
power, until one night, one dark, stormy 
night, when the wind howled dismally and 
the rain beat frantically at casement and 
threshold, and the great wings of the storm 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 243 

flapped out the light of moon and stars, the 
gifted artist opened the book of his life at a 
new and an eventful page. 


Chapter XXX. 

A STRANGE GUIDE. 

Fierce rose the tempest; darker and 
wilder grew the night. 

Such a night ! Jera Le* Britta drew his 
coat closer about his neck, drove his hat down 
over his brow, bent his head to the storm 
and plodded along the muddy road, splashing 
in and out great ruts and puddles and almost 
blindly forcing his way forward on his mis- 
sion. 

A mission in keeping with the night and 
its devastating influences. A mission of life 
or death, a self-imposed duty that, stern 
necessity had urged upon him. 

For over a . month he had been busy at his 
studio. Since the distressing climax in the 
affairs of the Vernons, Le Britta had devoted 
his energies to his profession with renewed 
vigor and enterprise. 

The season was a brisk one and it had 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


244 

been all work — little time for study or ex- 
periment. He had to catch up — to pay 
with double labor for the hours he had 
bestowed on the affairs of others. There 
were old orders to fill, and new ones to 
attend to. His industrious assistant, Maud, 
had her hands full. Le Britta found barely 
time to write to the Vernon lawyer, only to 
receive the disheartening reply that no trace 
of Gladys or Durand had been discovered. 

The afternoon preceding that stormy night, 
Doctor Milton had received a call from a 
patient some thirty miles distant, who, hear- 
ing of his rare skill, had sent for him. The 
doctor had taken the train for his destination, 
but just at dusk Le Britta received a telegram 
bearing his friend’s signature. 

It told Le Britta briefly that the doctor 
had found his patient in an extremely .critical 
condition ; that he needed a certain medicine 
not to be obtained in the town near the home 
of his patient, and it asked him to go to his 
office and secure a certain phial. This he 
was to hand to the express messenger on the 
evening train, with instructions to deliver it 
to a messenger waiting at the depot of the 
town from which the telegram was dated. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


245 

Circumstances tended to interfere with this 
arrangement, however. In the first place, 
the message was delayed in its delivery ; in 
the next place, Le Britta found some difficulty 
in securing the bottle the doctor needed. 

When he hurried to the depot to catch the 
express messenger, it was to see the train 
just moving away. 

“ No train until midnight now,” ruminated 
Le Britta, concernedly. I declare, it’s too 
bad ! Doctor Dick will be expecting the 
medicine. He wouldn’t go to all this trouble 
about it if it wasn’t important. He must have 
it. What had I better do. I’ll take it to 
him.” 

Le Britta at once framed a dispatch to the 
station-agent at the town where the doctor 
was, asking him to inform Doctor Milton’s 
messenger that he had missed the train, but 
would deliver the medicine in person as soon 
as a fast horse could carry him thither. 

Then, arranging some little studio details 
that were necessary, Le Britta proceeded to 
the nearest livery-stable and obtained the 
fastest light turnout in the establishment. 

It was dusk when he started. One hour 


246 the chronicle of a camera. 

later the storm overtook him. The darkness 
was intense, the road unfamiliar. 

Crash ! off went a wheel in a deep rut. 
With a neigh of pain the horse sank down, 
its forefoot disabled by a slip. 

A light showed near by — the only one 
visible on the dreary landscape. Le Britta 
hurried toward it, leading the horse. He 
rapidly directed the humble occupant of the 
house to care for the steed until the morrow, 
inquired his way, and started on foot for his 
destination, which, he learned, was five miles 
straight ahead. 

He was sorry that he had undertaken the 
difficult task, less than a mile on his course. 
The storm had redoubled its fury, the wind 
now blew a perfect hurricane, and the rain 
came down in sheets. In doubt he groped 
his way forward. 

“'Straight ahead,’ he said,” murmured Le 
Britta, grimly, at last, as, wearied and breath- 
less, he shrank to a tree for shelter. “ It 
strikes me that I am going decidedly crooked. 
Hello 1 I see my mistake now. This is no 
road, it is not even a path — I have strayed 
from the highway — I am lost !” 

Ruefully Le Britta surveyed his surround- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


247 

ings. Not a light glowed in the vicinity. He 
was entirely at sea as to the distance, location 
and even direction. The country was moder- 
ately thickly settled in portions, however, 
and he felt assured that forward progress 
would eventually bring him to some habita- 
tion. 

On he plodded. Knee-deep he stumbled 
into a bog. He struggled out of it to fall 
into a pit. He clambered out of that to dash 
into a lot of briers. 

Wet, dismayed, harassed, the photog- 
rapher almost despaired of reaching his 
friend Doctor Milton before midnight. With 
a glow of hope, he suddenly hurried forward, 
however. 

A light ! ” he ejaculated. It seems quite 
near at hand, too. If I can find some farmer 
to hitch up and drive me to the town where 
Dick is, I shall be all right.” 

It took Le Britta fully an hour to gain the 
light that was less than half a mile distant. 
A more desolate tract of land he had never 
traversed. At one place quarry excavations 
showed, at another felled timber almost ob- 
structed his progress; but finally, soaked 
and panting from his arduous exertions, Le 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


248 

Britta came out upon a barren open space, 
with about as miserable an apology for a 
human habitation as he had ever seen, a few 
rods beyond him. 

It was a hut that the poorest of the poor 
might consent to call home, and then only 
under protest. It had but one window^ and 
that held only one whole pane of glass. 
Through it, from a candle set on a rude deal- 
table within a sparingly furnished room, 
emanated the glow that had been, to him, a 
beacon to safety and shelter. 

The dripping eaves and the sides of the 
hut were, however, a shield from the driving 
wind, and Le Britta paused there and glanced 
curiously in at the window. 

A little wood fire blazed in the fireplace. 
Near it, her head held in one hand in a 
thoughtful, wearied pose, was a little girl of 
about eleven years. 

Her attire was of the coarsest and com- 
monest fabrics, threadbare, and in places 
frayed and tattered, but wonderfully clean. 
Abject poverty surrounded her. It spoke in 
the bare walls, the broken fragments of food 
on the table, the pinched, wan face of the 
child. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


249 


That face, however, had something so 
pathetic in it, something so strange and 
pleading, that Le Britta’s heart stirred and 
thrilled as he gazed at its pure clear-cut pro- 
file, as if he was surveying some artistic 
portrait. 

He went around to the door and knocked. 
The next minute it was opened. 

“Who is it?” spoke the child, in a sweet, 
gentle tone of voice. 

“A stranger,” responded Le Britta, “I 
have lost my way in the storm. Are you all 
alone here, my child ? Can I get no one to 
guide me to Bayville ? ” 

Something in the sweet, loving face turned 
toward him, puzzled him. The girl seemed 
to look at him, and yet beyond him with a 
blank, far-away expression in her strange 
eyes. 

“There is no one who could do that but 
myself,” she said. “ It is only a quarter of a 
mile to the road, and a mile down that to 
Bayville.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Le Britta, “so near? 
Thank you. I can find my way.” 

“ I fear not, if you are a stranger,” re- 
sponded the. girl in the same soft, well-modu- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


250 

lated tones. There are deep pits to pass, 
and to a stranger on such a night it would be 
dangerous. Wait, sir, till I get my cloak and 
hood, and I will lead you as far as the 
road.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” 

Le Britta stepped inside the hut. The 
child walked about like one in a dream, so 
slow and yet gliding were her movements. 
She proceeded to a cupboard, and took out a 
well-worn hood and cloak. 

“ I am ready,” she said. 

Le Britta retreated through the open door- 
way. The little girl followed him, softly 
closed the door, sighed anxiously, and then 
seemed to grope out toward him. 

Let me take your hand,” she said, sweetly. 

That is it,” as he grasped the little hand 
within his own. ‘‘ Now, only keep by my 
side, and be careful not to stumble. Only, 
let me guide you.” 

“ If you had a lantern,” suggested Le 
Britta, somehow dereply interested in the 
gentle and careful movements of his strange 
guide. 

'‘A lantern?” repeated the child, softly. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 25 I 

We have one, but it would be of no use to 
me.” 

'‘No use — why?” 

"No, for— lam blind!” 


Chapter XXXI. 

THE BLIND GIRL. 

Blind 1 

Jera Le Britta stopped suddenly. For the 
moment he was rendered speechless with 
the surprise the simple, pathetic announcement 
caused him. 

" Blind ! ” he ejaculated, finally. " Oh ! 
my child.” 

"You fear to trust me to guide you?” 
smiled the little girl. "You need not. Why, 
I know every foot of the way, with no eyes at 
all, better than those who have two of them. 
Keep tight hold of my hand, only trust to me. 
I will not let you fall into any of the pits, or 
fall myself, never fear ! ” 

Jera Le Britta confessed to mingled emo- 
tions the strangest he had ever experienced. 

The situation was thrilling. He shud- 
dered, as even in the blackness of the night 


2^2 the chronicle OF A CAMERA. 

he could see deep excavations yawning at the 
sides of the narrow path they pursued. His 
guide advanced slowly, but unhesitatingly. 
Sure-footed, possessed of some rare instinct- 
ive gift of perception, she at last led her 
startled companion to a point where a broad 
highway ran, and down its far length gleamed 
the lights of the town he had sought so 
vainly. 

For the present, however, Jera Le Britta’s 
thoughts were not on Doctor Milton or his 
mission of the night. He forgot storm and 
discomfort amid the deepest, tenderest inter- 
est in the little child before him. 

His heart was touched at her misfortune, 
something in the sweet, pure face brought 
the tears of pity and love to his eyes, and 
made his heart beat the faster with sympathy. 

‘H do not know how to thank you,'’ he 
said, pressing a bank note in her palm. 

“This is money, is it not?” she asked, 
simply. 

“ Yes.” 

“And you can spare it — I have earned it 
honestly ? ” 

“ Ten times over ! ” cried Le Britta, deeply 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 


253 

touched at the earnest probity of his little 
guide. 

“ I thank you very much, then,” she said 
pathetically, “ for I need it.” 

“You do not live in that lonely place 
alone, surely ? ” spoke Le Britta. 

“Almost,” was the answer. “ My aunt, 
who is old and poorly, comes over once a 
week from a farm on the ridge, where she 
works, to stay all night, and . mend my 
clothes, and do things I cannot about the 
house. She brings me food, too, but I .earn 
quite a little, carrying water to the quarry- 
workers, daytimes.” 

“ But your father — your mother .^” 

“ My mother died two years ago,” was the 
answer, with a slight sob. “ My father has 
not been here since her funeral. He took to 
drink, but I am keeping the house for him. 
They wanted to send me to the poor-house, 
but I wouldn’t go. I promised my angel 
mother to keep a shelter for poor father’s 
head, and I stay at the old hut. He will 
come some day — oh, yes!” And the little 
matronly creature sighed wisely, like a guard- 
ian over a wayward charge. “ Some day he 
will get tired of the cruel drink, and will 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


254 

come home to nursing, and comfort, and 
love ! ” 

'' Poor, afflicted child ! 

Murmuring the words, Jera Le Britta stood 
gazing after her as she bade him good-by, 
and started back the way she had come. 

He trembled for her safety, but, as the 
darkness swallowed her up, he realized how 
futile would be his blind gropings along that 
narrow path ; he recalled her confident assur- 
ances that she knew every foot of the way, 
and had traversed it a thousand times. 

“ I shall not lose sight of the poor child,’' 
he told himself, as he started down the road. 

How wicked for humanity blessed with 
sight and reason to complain at trifles, when 
that little waif is deprived of the gift of see- 
ing, of friends, of even a decent shelter, and 
yet patiently, almost cheerfully, assumes her 
cross ! She interests me, she appeals to my 
sympathy. I shall try and brighten her con- 
dition in some way.” 

Le Britta pursued his way. He little 
dreamed that he was indeed to see the little 
child again, and that, too, sooner than he 
had expected ; that her influence was to cast 
a singular glow over his life^ and to become 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 255 

strangely mingled with the plots that had 
affected his recent interest in the great 
Vernon case. 

“The town at last,” sighed Le Britta, as 
wearied and wet to the skin he reached a 
tavern. 

Brief inquiries located the doctor and his 
patient. Dr. Richard Milton greeted Le 
Britta warmly, gratefully, when he heard his 
narrative of the night’s adventures. He ex- 
plained the importance of the medicine he 
had brought. 

“ I shall be with my patient most of the 
night,” he said. “You had better go to the 
hotel, and get dry and keep warm after the 
terrible exposure of the night.” 

“Can I not help you in any way ? ” 

“No, thanks. I will call for you in the 
morning.” 

“And we will return home together.” 

“ Exactly.” 

This was agreed on. Le Britta left the 
doctor with his patient in a gloomy old man- 
sion, and was soon tucked in a comfortable 
bed, and in the land of dreams. 

Doctor Milton appeared at dawn to report 
his patient past the crisis and on the road to 


256 chronicle of a camera. 

recovery, thanks to the potent medicine that 
the photographer had brought, and they had 
breakfast together. 

Le Britta had not forgotten the little blind 
girl. As they strolled toward the railroad 
depot he related the details of his meeting 
with the child. 

“ We have time to spare. Shall we go 
and see her ? he asked. 

“ I don’t care,” replied Doctor Milton. “ It 
is two hours to train time yet.” 

“ I think I can find the hut,” spoke Le 
Britta. “Yes, it was in that direction, and 
— look, Dick, look!” 

Le Britta excitedly seized his companion’s 
arm and pointed down the road. 

“Eh? What is it, Jera? ” 

“ The very child ! ” 

“ The blind girl ? ” 

“Yes.” 

An advancing figure enchained their mutual 
attention. It was that of the blind child, and 
she was hurrying toward the town as fast as 
she could walk. 

Le Britta advanced to intercept her. 

“ Wait, wait, my child ! ” he said, seizing 
her arm, 


« 



r. 


183. — “Lift your veil, 


please, ” 




’i'MK 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


257 

The blind girl lifted her face to that of the 
speaker with a quick, pleased smile. 

I know you — I remember your voice ! ” 
she cried. 

“ Indeed ? ’’ murmured Le Britta. 

“Yes, you are the gentleman who gave 
me the money last night. Oh, sir ! do not 
detain me just now. Oh, sir! I have such 
news 1 ” 

Her face was aglow with emotion and ex- 
citement as she soke. 

“ Why are you going to the village — what 
is your hurry ? ” queried Le Britta. 

“ I will tell you,” she half-whispered, her 
features scintillating with joy — “oh, sir I he 
has come back ! ” 


Chapter XXXII. 

CLUE OR MISTAKE? 

“ He has come back 1 ” 

The illuminated face of the little child, the 
accents of pride, delight and affection in her 
gentle voice, were* indescribable as she ut- 
tered the fervent words. Deeply interested, 
Le Britta asked : 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 


258 

“ You mean your father?” 

‘'Yes, poor old father! I knew it, I told 
you so. He’s come back, but, oh ! ” and the 
facjs fell to sadness and anxiety, “he’s come 
back so worn, so ill, may be dying ! ” she 
concluded, in a tone sunk to a whisper of 
terror. 

Th,e two friends exchanged glances of in- 
terest and sympathy. 

“ And where were you going ? ” asked Le 
Britta. 

“To the village. I must get a doctor. 
The money you gave me last night will pay 
for one, will it not.” 

“ My friend here with me is a physician,” 
interrupted the photographer. 

“ Oh ! I am so glad.” 

“And he will charge you nothing. Come, 
doctor, we may be of use to the child’s 
father.” 

“Oh! how kind you are,” murmured the 
girl, fervently. 

She led the way from the town, the others 
following. Her accuracy of step engrossed 
the doctor. She seemed to feel her way with 
her feet, and never stumbled or made a mis- 
step. 


THE CHRONICLE. OF A CAMERA. 


259 

Into the wretched hut Edna — for she had 
told them that was her name — ushered 
them. 

“Where is your father.^” asked Le Britta. 

Edna pointed to the next room. 

“He is in there. You will try and make 
him well, won’t you ? ” 

“ We will, indeed 

Doctor Milton removed his hat, and ad- 
vanced to the door of the little apartment. 
He entered it. Le Britta, watching the girl, 
was startled by a sudden ejaculation a minute 
later. Immediately thereafter, Doctor Milton, 
with a startled face, reappeared. 

“ Le Britta!” he almost gasped, “come 
here.” 

“ What is it, Dick ” 

Doctor Milton pointed to a low cot on 
which lay the figure of a man. 

“ Do you know him ? ” he queried. 

“ How should I, a stranger?” 

“ Look closer.” 

“Mercy! Dipk, itis” 

“ The tramp ! ” 

Staring in unfeigned amazement, the two 
friends stood regarding the figure on the 
couch. 


26 o the chronicle of a camera. 

It was the tramp — the beneficiary of Dr. 
Richard Milton’s kindness in the past the 
homeless wanderer who had imparted to 
them the secret of the hidden treasure in the 
ravine at Hawthorne villa. 

Thinner, paler, weaker than ever, there he 
lay. The man they had sought for so ardu- 
ously and unsuccessfully, the man who had 
evidently secured the Vernon fortune, was 
before them. 

Satisfaction at his discovery was obscured 
by the profound surprise experienced by 
both Le Britta and the doctor, as they mar- 
veled at the strange workings of providence 
that had brought the man hither,’ that had led 
them to his side. 

“Dick, it’s fate ! ” gasped Le Britta. 

“ It is a marvelous occurrence,” assented 
the doctor. “Evidently, he is little Edna’s 
father. His condition shows that he was 
forced to find shelter, to seek rest and nurs- 
ing, or die.” 

“ Is he very ill ? ” 

“ Give me time to ascertain.” 

For over an hour. Dr. Richard Milton 
worked over the invalid. Finally he re- 
turned to the larger room, where little Edna 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 26 1 

sat, a prey to vivid emotions that showed 
plainly on her impressionable face. Light 
as was his footstep, she caught its sound and 
glided to his side. 

“ Is he very ill, doctor ? ” she queried, 
solicitously. 

“ Yes.” 

Will he — will he — die ? ” 

“ I think not. We shall do all we can for 
him, at least.” 

The doctor beckoned to Le Britta, and 
both went outside the hut. 

“ Well ? ” queried the latter, eagerly. 

“ The final reaction has come,” announced 
the doctor. 

You mean ? ” 

'' Collapse.” 

He is conscious.” 

“No — fever! I can only theorize as to 
how he has passed the days since his escape 
from us. The stimulant phial has probably 
kept up an artificial strength. He secured 
the treasure — wandered here, and — it will 
be days, it may be weeks, before he knows 
another lucid moment. 

Le Britta looked anxious. 


262 chronicle of a camera. 

“ And the money — the fortune — the hun- 
dred thousand dollars ? ” he began. 

The doctor shook his head dubiously. 

“ I have taken the precaution of searching 
him,” he said. “ He had not so much as a 
single dollar about him.” 

“ Then he must have hidden it somewhere/’ 

“ It looks so.” 

‘‘Where, I wonder?” 

“ That we must find out.” 

“ How ? ’ 

“You shall see. We must be patient and 
cautious this time. This man’s secret is an 
important one to Gladys Vernon. I must 
return to my patients, and you need not neg- 
lect your business. Leave it all to me.” 

At noon that day, the two friends left for 
home by rail. 

Doctor Milton had secured the services of 
a young medical student. The latter was a 
warm friend of the doctor, and he intrusted 
him with just sufficient knowledge of the cir- 
cumstances of the case, to be sure he would 
act with promptness and fideli^ in his 
interests. 

He introduced the young man at the hut 
as a nurse for the invalid, and little Edna 


THE CHRONICLE OP A CAMERA. 


263 

thanked them sobbingly for the comforts 
with which they surrounded herself and her 
suffering father. 

“And now we must wait patiently,” an- 
nounced Doctor Milton, as they reached 
home. 

“ For what ? ” queried Le Britta. 

“For word from the man in charge of the 
tramp.” 

“ Concerning the treasure ? ” 

“ Concerning everything about the tramp 
of interest to us, yes. He will not allow his 
patien.t to escape again. As soon as he re- 
covers or becomes conscious, he is to tele- 
graph for us.” 

Several days passed by with only a formal 
report as to the condition of the tramp. 
Toward the latter part of the week, how- 
ever, Doctor Milton received a letter, the 
contents of which excited him strangely. 

He hastened to Le Britta’s studio, and was 
soon closeted with the photographer. 

“News?” queried the latter, eagerly. 

“Yes, important news. Read that.” 

It was a letter from the young medical stu- 
dent. It detailed the course of the tramp’s 
fever, and it ended with the words : 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


264 

“You gave me just an inkling of the fact 
that your main anxiety outside of the man’s 
recovery, was to learn where he had hidden 
certain moneys. 

“This fact I have not positively ascertained, 
but from words spoken by the invalid I can 
give you a clue. 

“Years ago, he was quite a successful busi- 
ness man, and had a partner. His child 
verifies this. >' 

“ Of this partner he has raved considera- 
bly, and I am satisfied that he has recently 
seen him. 

“ More than that, I am satisfied that he 
visited this man, and intrusted to him a 
large amount of money — possibly the money 
you are so anxious about. 

“ Later, he again visited him and demanded 
his money back. The man denied ever re- 
ceiving it. 

“This man lives in the city. His name 
is ” 

Le Britta started incredulously as he read 
the words that followed. 

For they constituted a name belonging to 
one of the greatest social lights, one of the 
wealthiest merchants of the city where the 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 265 

conclave had just been held — Darius Mer- 
edith. 

A clue or — a mistake ! Which ? 


Chapter XXXIII. 

HYPNOTISM. 

Mr. Le Britta ! ” 

The name was spoken amid a glare of 
splendor and light. It announced a guest in 
the drawing-room of one of the stateliest 
mansions in the city. 

For a week the photographer had planned 
for this moment, which was to mark the initial 
step in a new venture that had for its motive 
the final securing of the Vernon treasure. 

Upon the receipt of that letter from the 
medical student in charge of the tramp, the 
doctor and Le Britta had held a long, serious 
conversation. 

Then a hurried visit to the city had ensued, 
a secret investigation into the character of 
Darius Meredith, and then the two friends 
had arrived at a definite conclusion. 

From what they could learn of the tramp’s 
past, and his association with this man. 


266 the chronicle of a camera. 

Meredith, one fact seemed certain — they had 
once been business partners. 

To the world Meredith was an honored, 
successful business man, in reality he was a 
thoroughly bad-hearted man. It made the 
open-minded Le Britta sick at soul, to con- 
template so much hypocrisy veiled by the 
mask of social eminence. 

Meredith was a gambler, a usurer, a hard- 
fisted employer. Many a dishonorable quirk 
in his business evidenced his deceit and wick- 
edness, and the two friends soon knew the 
man they had to handle. 

Of a surety, from what they learned, the 
tramp, after securing the treasure, weak, sick, 
fearful of pursuit, had gone to the partner of 
his better days, and had intrusted to his 
charge the custody of the precious packet 
that contained the Vernon treasure. 

Later, demanding its return, he had been 
repulsed, ejected from the sumptuous home 
of Meredith, and even threatened with arrest. 

Meredith certainly had the money. How^ 
to establish that fact beyond a legal doubt, 
and recover it, was now the mission of Le 
Britta, and it would prove a delicate and a 
difficult task, he felt sure. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


267 

Finally, his plan was developed, however. 
Through a letter from Doctor Milton he 
secured an invitation to the home of a lady 
who was a belle in city society, and where he 
knew Meredith was an honored guest. 

Upon the evening in question, arrayed in 
full evening dress, his courtly bearing and 
familiarity with the usages of good society 
enabling him to act his part circumspectly, 
Le Britta found himself in the gay drawing- 
rooms of the fashionable mansion. 

Its fair hostess greated him cordially. An 
hour later, Le Britta- had secured an intro- 
duction to Meredith. Before the evening 
had passed he had succeded in winning the 
complete good graces of the man. 

The next evening they met again. Two 
nights thereafter, to the satisfaction of 
Le Britta, Meredith invited him to his home. 

It was the culmination of his hopes. He 
was working slowly, deftly, for a result. 

As he rang at the portals of the stately 
home of Darius Meredith that evening, the 
photographer’s eyes flashed confidently as he 
murmured : 

“The opportunity has arrived ! It will be 
a battle to the finish, instead of an evening 


268 chronicle oe a camera. 

call, Mr. Darius Meredith, and I shall win ! 

As he spoke he fondled in his coat-pocket 
a tiny phial that Dr. Richard Milton had 
given him. 

“ That little cordial is my resource!^’ he 
soliloquized. “ Now to test the doctor s 
scheme — to learn what has become of the 
Vernon fortune. An hour’s interview with 
Meredith, that little phial produced, and then 
~ hypnotism was Le Britta’s remarkable 
conclusion, as he entered the stately home 
of the man he had come to unmask. 


Chapter XXXIV. 

THE EXPERIMENT . 

Jera Le Britta braced himself for a con- 
flict, as he found himself seated in the luxu- 
rious lounging-room of Darius Meredith. 

With that keen mental prescience that 
rendered him an accurate physiognomist, the 
photographer read as in a mirror the mind 
of his host. To outward semblance a thrifty 
business man, respectable and honest, from 
what he had learned and surmised, Le Britta 
was satisfied that he was a black-hearted 
scoundrel in reality. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 269 

Furthermore, he was assured that he had 
possession of the Vernon fortune. 

As in a dream, Jera Le Britta in a flash 
went over all the details of the strange case 
that had brought about the present culmina- 
tion. 

Upon him devolved a sacred duty — the 
righting of a wrong, the unmasking of vil- 
lainy, the disentangling of a mighty web. 

All his efforts tended to the recovery of 
Gladys Vernon, the finding of her lover, 
Sydney Vance, the conviction of the real 
murderer, Ralph Durand, the securing of the 
vast fortune hidden by the dead Vernon, 
found by the dead or dying tramp, now 
held as lawful booty by the unprincipled 
schemer before him. 

For days Le Britta had studied the char- 
acter of Darius Meredith. He had slowly 
acquired information regarding him. He had 
simmered him down as a glib, smooth 
schemer, as a bold, defiant enemy. No 
amount of pleading would ever wrest money 
from this unscrupulous villain. It must be 
aggressive, yet secret cunning that would 
win the victory ! 

So firmly resolved to bring affairs to a 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


270 

Speedy issue, determined to make a final ef- 
fort to cause the wealthy thief to disgorge 
his ill-gotten gains, Le Britta summed up his 
mysterious designs in that single expressive, 
and yet ominous word, 

“ Hypnotism ! ” 

The photographer was no superstitious be- 
liever in the occult sciences — clairvoyance, 
second sight, and the like. In the mysteries 
of magnetism, mind-reading and mesmerism, 
however, he had witnessed many peculiar 
experiments. 

He knew that a strong will could dominate 
a weaker one, that the glittering eye of a 
serpent has power to magnetize the bird, just 
as the diamond in the hands of the hypnotist 
allures the sight of the subject until visual 
concentration fades into a glamour of the 
senses. He knew, also, that when a person 
is mesmerized he is under the direction of 
the operator. 

In his pocket Le Britta carried a little phial. 
It was to be an agent in the execution of his 
project in case his first resource failed. It 
contained a volatile preparation having the 
same properties as ether. Once adminis- 
tered, it stimulated the senses, yet befogged 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


271 

the judgment. It unloosed the tongue, it sent 
the natural secretive instincts rioting, and 
developed the true hidden nature of the vic- 
tim. Thus, under its influence, a miser would 
babble of his gold, a gambler would imagine 
he was playing for a stake of millions, a mus- 
ical person would sing, and a solemn individ- 
ual would weep. 

Le Britta had determined to learn what 
had become of the missing Vernon fortune. 
This man, Darius Meredith, had received it 
from the tramp, undoubtedly, and had misap- 
propriated it. It was, furthermore, probable 
that, having driven the tramp away and de- 
nied ever having received the money, he 
would not convert it immediately to his own 
use for fear a later investigation might trace 
it. He possibly had it hidden somewhere, 
and, acting upon this conjecture, Le Britta 
prepared himself to find out where. 

Meredith received him cordially. He was 
a shrewd man. While Le Britta was culti- 
vating his friendship diligently so as to win 
his confidence, the scheming wolf in sheep s 
clothing fancied he was getting in his clutches 
a new victim to pluck. Le Britta seemed to 
have plenty of money, he had acted the inno- 


2^2 the chronicle OF A CAMERA. 

cent, inexperienced and inoffensive society 
idler to' perfection. Meredith had invited 
him to his house to treat him well, to profess 
great friendship for him, and later, to lead him 
into gambling, when he would fleece him of 
all his available cash. 

Le Britta found preparations for a pleasant 
evening in the coz)^ library. The shades 
were drawn, the gas brilliantly lighted, and 
wine, cigars and cards were near at hand. 
He never smoked, drank nor gambled, but, 
even at the risk of slight nausea, he took a 
few puffs at a havana, his mental excuse 
being the exigencies of the occasion, and 
was soon engaged in a brisk conversation 
with his host. 

The latter discussed business, society and 
politics. Then he began descanting on the 
rare good fortune attending some of his re- 
cent speculations. Then he drifted to cards. 

“A quiet game, once in awhile, is a relax- 
ation,” remarked Meredith. “ A small stake 
makes it still more interesting. I had quite a 
run of luck with the governor’s adjutant a few 
evenings since. Won enough to invest in a 
new diamond pin. Am having it reset now. 
By the way, Le Britta, suppose we have r- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


273 

round at poker, just to while the time away.” 

Le Britta ascertained that the conversation 
had reached a critical point. He never 
played cards, in fact, he was ignorant of the 
details of any game of chance. If he con- 
fessed this Meredith would probably shorten 
the interview peremptorily and defeat his in- 
tentions. On the other hand, if he feigned 
to play, Meredith would win his money, and 
Le Britta could scarcely afford to lose any- 
thing, even in pursuit of a cherished purpose. 

“Til try my experiment,” he murmured, 
decisively. “ Now or never! ” 

Meredith had arisen to secure a card-case 
from the side-board. His half-filled glass of 
wine on the table stood temptingly near to 
Le Britta. 

Quick as a flash the latter drew the tiny phial 
from his pocket. Deftly he uncorked it. 
With a rapid movement he reached over and 
reversed the little bottle. Only a part of its 
contents fell into the wine glass, but he felt 
sure there was sufficient to affect his intended 
victim. 

Meredith resumed his seat, all unconscious 
of this little side-play. He began shuffling 
the cards. 

18 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


274 

Oh ! by the way,” remarked Le Britta. 
‘‘You were speaking of diamonds.” 

“Yes.” 

“ Did you ever notice this ring I wear ? ” 

As he spoke the photographer showed a 
small but exquisitely chiseled diamond on a 
finger of his left hand. 

“ No ; not particularly.” 

To Le Britta’s satisfaction, as Meredith 
turned his eyes upon the circlet in question, 
he mechanically raised the wine-glass to his 
lips and drained its contents. 

He started slightly with a quick grimace, 
and seemed to detect the peculiar flavor of 
the liquor, but Le Britta hastened to divert 
his attention from the drugged wine by re- 
moving his finger-ring. He held the gleam- 
ing gem in the full radiance of the light, and 
said : 

“ Just keep your eyes fixed on the diamond, 
Mr. Meredith, and observe how peculiarly the 
facets reflect the light.” 

Now, this was a ruse. Understanding the 
modus operandi of hypnotism, Le Britta 
was proceeding in a line with the system 
adopted by its most skillful exponents. They 
fascinate a subject’s gaze first, and then c^n- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


275 

tralizing all their mesmeric strength en- 
deavor to force the subject into hypnotic 
sleep. 

Le Britta brought all the energy of his will 
to subjugate Meredith. He was disappointed 
at the result, however, for Meredith puffed 
coolly at his cigar, and therje was not a par- 
ticle of evidence in the hard, evil face that he 
was affected by either the drug or the mes- 
meric efforts of his guest. 

Suddenly, about to turn his eyes away 
from the diamond with some indifferent re- 
mark as to its beauty, Meredith started. 

Caused by some sudden dizzying effect of 
the medicine, an observation of Le Britta s 
steady glance or a latent taste of the drugged 
liquor in his mouth, Meredith shot a pene- 
trating look at his companion. 

Le Britta, engrossed in hypnotizing him, 
did not observe the suspicious movement. 
Meredith veiled his glance with a grim ex- 
pression. Then, noticing the spot on the 
table, where half the contents of the phial 
had been spilled, his lips became compressed. 

He fixed his eyes again on the diamond 
ring extended by Le Britta, the cigar dropped 


2^6 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

to the table, he drew back, and then — his 
eyes began to close. 

A quick flush of delight sprung to Le 
Britta’s cheek. Not for a moment did he 
doubt but that the combined mesmeric influ- 
ence and the drug had conduced to bring his 
companion under his influence completely. 

“ Success ! ” he breathed, fervently. My 
man is hypnotized ! ” 


Chapter XXXV. 

DUPED ! 

'' And now for his secret ! ” 

Le Britta arose cautiously and approached 
Meredith, who had sank back in his chair 
until his body had assumed a half-recumbent 
position. He imitated professional hypnot- 
ists, by making several passes before the 
subject ; then he stroked his eyes ; they 
opened. 

The unsuspicious photographer was satis- 
fied that his experiment had succeeded in 
every particular. Meredith was certainly in 
a mesmeric trance. His appearance indi- 
cated the fact plainly. Le Britta kept his 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 2^7 

eye fixed upon him in silence for a moment 
or two. Then he directed, in a low, steady 
tone of voice : 

Turn that wine glass upside down.” 

Meredith put forth his hand and obeyed. 

“Arise to your feet.” 

Meredith struggled to an erect position, 
steadying himself on the back of the chair. 

“Will you answer me some questions?” 
was the next query. 

“Yes.” 

“ You know a man named Dave Wharton, 
a tramp ? ” 

“I do.” 

“ He was your former business partner ? ” 

Meredith swayed slightly, and he hesitated 
a moment or two before replying. His eyes 
were rather clear and intelligent for a person 
under mesmeric spell, but he finally said : 

“ Yes, he was.” 

“ Have you seen him lately ?” 

No reply. 

“Did he not come to you a little over a 
week ago ? ” 

Stubborn silence. 

“Answer!” ordered Le Britta. 

“ He may have done so.” 


2yS THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, 

“And brought a package of money? It 
was intrusted to your keeping. He returned 
for it. You denied having it. Speak ! ” 
“Ah!" 

Meredith uttered the ejaculation with en- 
ergy. His eyes dilated. 

“ That package you must give to me. Do 
you understand? " 

It seemed as if Meredith was about to 
spring upon Le Britta. His eyes glared, his 
fingers worked nervously. Then, of a sud- 
den, his face resumed its vacant expression, 
and he murmured. 

“You want it?" 

“I must have it!" rejoined Le Britta, 
firmly. “ It is in the house ? " 

“ Probably." 

“ In this room ? " 

“No." 

“ Where, then ? " 

“ Shall I lead you to it 

“ Yes." 

“ Come ! " 

Meredith started for the door, Le Britta 
followed him. In the hall, he took up a 
lighted lamp. Down a corridor he proceed- 
ed; stopped at a door, took a key from his 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 279 

pocket, unlocked it, and, entering the apart- 
ment, placed the lamp on a little table in the 
center of the room. 

Le Britta gazed curiously about the apart- 
ment. It seemed to be a sort of study or 
business room, for it had a desk, and, sunk 
in the wall of one side, a huge iron door 
resembling that of a bank vault. This door 
had the conventional combination lock and 
knob. 

Meredith swayed dreamily. He really ap- 
peared like a man under the combined 
influence of narcotics and mesmeric force. 

“Is it here that I shall find the package 
belonging to the tramp ? queried Le Britta, 
sharply. 

The other nodded affirmatively. 

“ Where ? ” 

Meredith pointed to the vault door. 

“ It is in there ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Le Britta sprang to the door, but found it 
secured. 

“Can you open it?” he queried, eagerly. 

“ I can.” 

“ Do so.” 

Meredith approached the door, set the dial 


28 o the chronicle or a camera. 

against the indented disc figures, swirled it 
once or twice, and the door swung back. 

Shelves and cases showed within, crammed 
full of papers. 

• “Go and get the package,” ordered Le 
Britta. 

Meredith took a step forward. Then he 
reeled, recoiled, and sank to a chair. 

His head fell upon his breast. Le Britta, 
alarmed at a fear of failure in his mission 
when so vitally near to apparent success, 
seized his arm roughly. 

“Arouse yourself, I order you ; ” he spoke, 
hurriedly and with force. 

Meredith only mumbled a few incoherent 
words. 

“ Get the package ! ” 

“No!” 

''YoMinust!'' 

“ I cannot. You get it.” 

“ The drug has dulled the mesmeric intelli- 
gence,” murmured Le Britta, apprehensively. 
“Come, Meredith ! You tell me to get the 
package ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Where is it?” 

“ In the vault.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


281 


‘‘Where?” 

“ Left hand cabinet. Lower drawer.” 

With an exultant cry, Le Britta sprang 
into the vault. 

The light from the outer room illumined 
its dark corners sufficiently to show the cab- 
inet described. 

Toward this the photographer advanced, 
his heart beating high with hope. 

Sudden darkness supervened. Suddenly, 
too, horror sent his blood curdling in every 
vein. 

He dimly saw Meredith, his face wreathed 
with cunning triumph, spring to the door. 
There was a crash and a mocking, exultant 
laugh. 

Then — 

Announcing defeat, peril, deep, decisive, 
unmasking the clever rogue who had pene- 
trated his designs and led him into a trap, a 
resounding echo told Le Britta that he was 
caged, in the toils of a shrewder man than 
himself. 


282 ' the chronicle of a camera. 

CHA.PTER XXXVL 
A DARK night’s WORK. 

The hypocritical scoundrel who posed 
before the community as a business man of 
probity and enterprise, and yet who was at 
heart a conscienceless villain, Darius Mere- 
dith, uttered a chuckling cry of satisfaction. 

The ponderous iron door was shut with a 
crash. In a second more, click-clicketty- 
clack ! went the tumblers shut into their 
lock. 

“Caged!” muttered Meredith. “I sus- 
pected his game. The drug and his looks 
betrayed him. I decoyed him here. Aye I 
yell my friend, you’ll bide my will, now.” 

Meredith sat down at the table, a muffled 
sound echoed from behind the iron door, but 
he paid not the slightest attention to it. 

“ I’ve got him safe,” he reflected. “ Now 
to think out this complication. What does 
it mean ? Who is this man ? A detective 
in disguise ? Scarcely, for his credentials 
come too straight. Yet he has shadowed 
me — has purposely cultivated my acquaint- 
ance. He knows my former business part- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


283 

ner, the tramp — he knows that the packag^e 
was intrusted to my keeping. How ? Has 
Wharton told him ? How far can they prove 
my possession of that money ? I must think 
out this unexpected complication. I am fore- 
warned. How much does this fellow Le 
Britta know ? ” 

For fully ten minutes the plotter medi- 
tated, his sinister brows bent in a thoughtful 
scowl. 

I have it ! ” he cried at last, arising sud- 
denly to his feet. “I will release Le Britta, 
but at the point of a revolver. He will be 
weak, inert, passive from imprisonment in 
that close vault. I will force him to tell me 
all he knows. Ah ! what is that ? ” 

At a window something seemed to tap — 
to fade in the outer darkness as he glanced 
thither, startled. 

He ran to it, peered anxiously out, and 
then drew the shade closer, with the careless 
remark : 

“The wind blowing a branch of the oak 
against the panes.” 

Then he took out a revolver. Approach- 
ing the vault, the weapon in his hand, he un- 
locked its door. 


284 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

“ Come out ! ’’ he ordered. 

There was no answer. 

He threw the door wide open. 

“ Come out, I say ! ” he repeated, loudly, 

only, I am armed, and will shoot if you at- 
tempt to escape from this room. Hello ! ” 

The revolver went clanging to the floor. 
Aghast, the plotter stood, rooted to the spot, 
in dismay and horror. 

Across the stone floor of the vault lay a 
prostrate form — Le Britta. 

The air-tight compartment had done its 
deadly work. Its victim lay motionless. 

Meredith at last stooped over and turned 
the face of the prostrate man toward the 
light. . Its pallor terrified him. 

He examined the heart. No pulsation 
there. 

“Mercy!” he gasped, tottering like a 
drunken man. “I have killed him. It is — 
mtirder r' 

His face was the color of ashes, his nerve- 
less hands began to tremble. 

What should he do ? Here was crime. 
Here was peril. He shuddered as the grue- 
some shadows about him seemed to frame 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 285 

the somber outlines of a prison cell, the felon’s 
dock, the scaffold ! 

Then fright, deadly fear, impelled him to 
sudden, frantic action. 

He dashed from the room, out into the 
yard, into the stables. He hitched up a fast 
horse to a close buggy. Then back he sped 
to the vault apartment. 

His victim lay as he had left him. He 
seized him in his arms, bore him down a dark 
corridor, out into the garden, through the 
stable, and, placing the limp form in the 
bottom of the buggy, covered it with a horse- 
blanket. 

In five minutes he was traversing an un- 
frequented road leading to the suburbs. In 
half an hour he was in the open country. 

Once he halted the horse on a rustic bridge, 
and seemed about the lift the body of his 
victim and destroy all trace of his crime by 
casting it over the rail to the raging stream 
below. 

The approach of a pedestrian sent him 
speeding on, however. For miles he traveled 
a cheerless highway. 

^ Finally he made out a dismantled structure 
standing back from the road. It was a place 


286 the chronicle of a camera. 

familiar to him, a residence some years since 
devastated by fire. 

“Just the place!” he ejaculated. '‘No 
one goes there. Fll hide the body in the 
cellar. It will never be discovered.” 

He entered the house, staggering under 
his burden. He reappeared bearing the 
blanket, glancing apprehensively back ever 
and anon, and hurrying on the jaded steed 
once again in the vehicle. 

“ That disposes of him,” he muttered. “ I 
did not mean to kill him. He brought it on 
himself. No one will ever know. What a 
dolt 1 I forgot to lock up the vault. Should 
a burglar enter the house and find his way to 
that room he might beggar me.” 

Utterly heartless, Darius Meredith grew 
almost cheerful as he neared home again. 
A dangerous enemy had been removed from 
his path. The low-souled scoundrel actually 
congratulated himself on his dark night’s 
work. 

He entered the house and hastened to the 
apartment where Jera Le Britta had battled 
fate and had been defeated. 

The lamp still burned on the table. The 
vault door was still open. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 287 

Entering the vault, Meredith examined its 
interior. 

“All safe!” he muttered, “and the pack- 
age” — 

He sought to make sure of it by pulling 
open a drawer and gazing into it. 

An awful cry escaped his lips as he did so. 

“ Empty — gone ! ” he gasped. “ Robbed! 
The money ” 

Was not there ! He reeled into the outer 
room. Almost fainting, he felt a cold breath 
of air revive his tottering sensibilities. 

With a wild cry he observed that a win- 
dow was open. 

And then the truth paralyzed mind and 
heart, as it flashed across him with the in- 
tensity of a lightning shock. 

During his absence some one had opened 
a window, and, entering the apartment, had 
stolen the treasured package ! 

There could be no doubt of it, and the 
plotter's heart stood still as he asked himself 
the question : 

Had this mysterious person, as well, wit- 
nessed the crime that, proven, would send 
him to the gallows ? 


288 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Chapter XXXVIL . 

THE BORDERLAND. 

There is no agent of death more potent 
and yet deceptive in its effects than that 
which induces dissolution by means of suffo- 
cation. 

In drowning, and the results of smothering 
gases, no trace of violence exists. There is 
a certain painless fading into insensibility, 
and a suspension of the natural forces of the 
frame that is marked and alarming, even be- 
fore death arrives. 

The shock to the system clogs the circula- 
tion, deadens the brain, chokes the lungs. 
It is intense, and often, even where the victim 
has not absolutely reached the danger point, 
there seems to be an absolute cessation of 
vitality. 

The superficial examination of his victim 
made by Meredith after discovering Le 
Britta’s insensibility in the vault, tended to 
satisfy him that the photograher was dead. 
He could detect no pulse or respiration, 
while the bloodless lips and leaden eyelids 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 289 

added a ghastly aspect to the face of his 
decoyed guest. 

During that long drive into the country, 
Le Britta did not betoken one sign of return- 
ing consciousness, and when he was lifted 
from the buggy and carried into the old dis- 
mantled building, he lay as inert a burden as 
ever in the arms of his seeming assassin. 

Jera Le Britta was not dead, however. 
That trance-like coma, that semblance of dis- 
solution was but the lingering deadening 
effect of the blighted, mephitic atmosphere of 
the close vault. 

Five minutes more confinement in that 
sealed safe would have resulted .fatally, but 
as it was the precipitation of the murderous 
schemer saved the photographer’s life, for 
the quick rush to the open air relieved the 
poison-charged arteries, and the lingering 
inertia of body and mind was simply the 
deadening after-effects of the suffocation. 

Not a muscle, however, had Le Britta 
moved during that eventful ride, not a 
muscle moved as he was carried into the 
damp, gruesome cellar of the isolated build- 
ing. 

But what air, jolting and time had failed to 


2 go the chronicle OF A CAMERA. 

effect, another potent element of nature con- 
summated. 

When Meredith placed his supposedly 
dead charge upon the cold, clayey floor of 
the cellar, he dropped him directly across a 
pool of water. 

Haunted with dread for the results of his 
terrible deed, and frightened by phantoms 
conjured by his craven mind in that dark cel- 
lar-way, the miscreant allowed Le Britta to 
slip roughly to the floor, and fled precipi- 
tately. 

With a slight splash, the photographers 
head dipped into a depression in the soft 
earth, filled with water. The cooling liquid 
laved the base of his brain, and lapped cheek 
and brow. 

There was a deep-drawn sigh, a spas- 
modic flutter of the nerves, and then, like a 
man chained but gradually coming back to 
life from a dense swoon, the photographer 
opened his eyes. 

Here and there, through breaks in the wall 
and from sashless apertures, the faint light 
of the night permeated the place. He could 
feel the chill, the discomfort; he could dis- 
cern that he was in some unfamiliar spot, and 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


291 

yet the last hideous battle for life against the 
invisible forces of nature in that ponderous 
iron vault were so strongly present in his 
mind that, with a shock and a groan, he 
closed his eyes again, believing himself still 
to be a prisoner in the home of the plotter, 
Meredith. 

These are the strange, uncanny hours of 
existence, these moments when a person finds 
himself face to face with the untried, the un- 
known, the dim, the vague, the mysterious. 
It is then that the senses recoil alarmed; it is 
then that the soul, forced alone to battle with 
what the mind cannot grasp and comprehend, 
is revealed in its strong intensity, and man 
knows that the essence of immortality within 
him has a vivid existence and is a strong 
reality. 

So Le Britta, at that moment still thinking 
that the strong iron walls of the vault en- 
closed him, that he was yet a doomed pris- 
oner of villainy, awakening to a last final 
gasp of ebbing vitality, saw the world fade, 
forgot momentarily its cares and its pleasures 
alike, and faced the inevitable, dreamily yet 
tangibly. 

All the good, all the bad his life had known 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


292 

flashed across him mentally. The shudder- 
ing fear of death was robbed of its sting. 
What was a sharp pain, a choking moan, a 
last throe of the overwrought nerves ? But 
the soul ! 

In that moment there came to Le Britta 
what comes to every good man when the final 
moment dawns, be it slow or sudden, an- 
nounced by lingering illness or speedily as a 
lightnings flash — peace; rare, calm, ineffa- 
ble peace. 

And joy ! It was hard to leave a busy, 
bustling, happy life, with all its brisk, enticing 
changes ; it was hard to leave loved ones, to 
close human eyes on a human world, radiant 
with beauty, flowers, bird-song and sunshine; 
but the glamour of a glimpse into the portals 
of another life — a sudden, certain compre- 
hension of the heaven that lay beyond the 
borderland, enwrapt soul and sense in a 
delirium of joy. 

Here was the Promised Land — here 
was the pledge old as the world, and 
sacred as only the word of divinity can be, 
that death had no sting, and the grave was 
robbed of victory, and life, real, final life, was 
vouchsafed to the man who had tried to do his 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


293 

duty because he loved humanity better than 
his own safety ! 

And then, as if spoken by cherubic lips, 
as if two souls were wandering through 
space, one asking '‘Whither?” in the dim 
confusion of recent departure from earthly 
realms, the other questioning “Whence?” 
and the reply coming : “ I do not know. I 

only died last night ! ” there floated on the 
air in fancy, a form, soul-born, a flash of 
words to which the senses listened as to a 
beautiful strain of music : 

I lay with dying breath — 

My wan, worn hands in groping blindness beat against a wall 
Echoless, perpetual, pitiless and grim. 

That seemed to close the weary round of life, 

And showed no token of a void or break. 

And then — a smothering heart, a last swift breath, 

And I was dead, and something rushed apace. 

And I was free ; but, lo ! through later eyes. 

And newer vision, robbed of earthly bonds. 

No wall was there ! 

Only the summer skies, the waking hum 
Of insect-haunted air in myriad life. 

And budding, bubbling germs that sang and swayed. 

And perfume centers freighted rich. 

Yet, mingling with the soul of sound and sense. 

All this, and more ! and I, a formless thing. 

Floated and swayed, and rose in dreamy joy. 

Then, upward through the vapor and the blue. 

Way up past clouds, and moon and stars ! 

A thrill of glory, dazzling realms of gold, 


^94 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 


A sense of joy, half-rising, half sunk down, 

The sometAing yaulting pinion-poised aloft ! 

The thinking swirling back with eyes despaired! 

And then — 

I could not see myself, myself was lost. 

Divided, overwhelmed, confused, for I 

Was here, and yet was there, was lost, was found, 

And that which of the earth had gained its life 
Back to the earth’s warm rest sank swift, 

To long and waver through a night of years, 

And dissipate and resurrect in myriad forms. 

But the immortal part, shorn of its bonds. 

Had soared to new identity, forgetfulness and heaven. 

A sou-1 untrammeled, blest with spiritual eyes, 

A soul beyond the gates, new-born, complete! 

Le Britta sighed. So near to the seeming 
portals of death, so blest by radiant pictures 
of the future, so full of faith that those he 
loved would be cared for by divine mercy, 
he seemed to knock at the gates of heaven, 
and long to be let in upon the flawless fields 
of paradise. 

Good-by, old world! I have tried to do 
right.” 

A last murmur, a last settling *back to dis- 
solution, and then — 

A harsh, discordant whistle, sharp, shrill, 
nerve-disturbing. 

It pierced the solemn silence like the note 
of a bird of prey in a garden of loveliness. 


THE CHROHiCLE OF A CAMERA. 


2^5 

Rudely shocked, vividly disturbed, Jera Le 
Britta opened his eyes, and glaring into the 
darkness and gloom, listened intently. 


Chapter XXXVIII. 

A NEW TRAIL. 

Back to life in a flash, back to reality, to 
the earth-earthy, but with an experience that 
would impress his mind till his dying day, 
the startled Jera Le Britta was roughly sum- 
moned. 

With clearer senses, on the alert, he could 
readily discern now that he was not in the 
vault at Meredith’s house. 

No, there was a damp cellar-way, and some 
one was approaching, the whistle announced 
it, the reflection of the rays of a lantern in 
some compartment near by plainly indicated 
it. 

To a man who had given up his life as lost, 
and had bidden farewell to the world, the re- 
vulsion of an unexpected recall to earthly 
existence acted as a decided shock. 

Each moment the photographer’s senses 
cleared. A thought of duty at hand. Tasks 
uncompleted flashed across his mind, and he 


296 the chronicle of a camera. 

took up the armor anew of perseverance and 
faith without a murmur. 

Meredith! What a villain — what depths 
of evil in his cruel nature ! The stolen treas- 
ure ! Why, as never before, the issues of 
fate trembled in a perilous, uncertain balance. 

“This is some cellar, the cellar of the house 
where Meredith lives,” cogitated Le Britta. 
“ Scarcely, for it looks disused and dis- 
mantled. Where then ? ” 

That mysterious vv^histle was repeated, and 
around a corner of a stone partition the rays 
of the lantern again glinted across the slimy, 
damp foundations. 

There was something sinister in that whistle, 
and a thought of Meredith caused Le Britta 
to hesitate as the impulse came to cry out. 

He was glad that he checked it, for just 
then, as if in response to the first whistle, a 
second one echoed, and then a gruff voice 
exclaimed : 

“ Ah ! youVe come at last, have you ? ” 

“ Yes, on time, ain’t I ? ” 

There was the click of a watch-case and 
the reply : 

“ Scarcely. The appointment was for mid- 
night, and it barely lacks an hour of it.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


297 


Well, ain’t that time enough ? ’ 

If we hurry.” 

“ Come on, then.” 

I’ve got a boat.” 

Then we can row to the Point.” 

“Yes. Durand must have some mighty 
mysterious scheme on hand to go through 
all this secrecy and trouble.” 

“ Durand ! ” gasped Le Britta. 

That name acted upon him like a shock. 
He sat up abruptly ; he surprised away all 
the lingering weakness of the moment by 
struggling to his feet. 

Durand ! Following up one branch of the 
case, he had accidentally stumbled across 
another, and both dovetailed. 

These men had spoken Durand’s name ; 
more than that, they referred to some mys- 
terious mission for which he had engaged 
them — a midnight task, a sinister errand 
well in accordance with the usual evil 
methods of procedure of the villain who 
held the key to all the mysteries and 
counterplots that had grown from Le Brit- 
ta’s championship of the cause of beautiful, 
persecuted Gladys Vernon. 

Arranging mentally the case as it stood. 


298 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

the photographer realized that here was a 
new diverging path in the case to follow, 
which might bring about great results. 

The footsteps of the two men retreated, 
and the light from the lantern disappeared. 

Le Britta started cautiously after them. 
At first, his progress was dizzy-headed and 
uncertain, but, once in the open air, his senses 
revived. 

“ They are going toward the river,’' re- 
flected Le Britta. “ They have a boat, and 
they meditate about an hour’s row. How 
shall I keep trace of them ? ” 

He cut across a thicket Keeping slightly 
ahead of them, and never leaving a safe 
shelter to reveal himself to them. 

The boat to which one of the two men had 
referred lay moored there. It was a -yawl, 
broad and long, and rather unwieldy for those 
waters. There was a cuddy at the bow, and 
as Le Britta saw the men nearing the spot, 
and felt sanguine that they would make their 
prospective voyage on that craft, he decided 
on a rash exploit. 

To accompany them unsuspected, would 
be to trace them surely to the lair where they 
had announced they were to meet Durand. 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 


299 

The photographer acted quickly. He 
sprang into the yawl and crowded through 
the little door leading into the dark and low- 
ceilinged cuddy. 

It was close and damp, but he did not mind 
those trifling discomforts, although he hoped 
no necessity would arise for the two voyagers 
to explore his hiding-place. 

They stepped aboard, at once took up the 
oars, and devoted all their energies to smok- 
ing and rowing, scarcely uttering a word until 
they neared a high bluff, about five miles 
down the steam. 

The yawl grounded on the pebbly shore, 
the men secured it, sprang out, and one of 
them, with a glance at his watch, remarked : 

‘‘Just in time. Midnight. Come. It’s 
only a few steps now.” 

Those few steps Jera Le Britta followed 
with anxious eagerness. 

They led the men to an old building that 
resembled a residence, only that it was in a 
state of considerable decay. 

The men went around to its side door. 
One of them tapped loudly. It was opened. 

Le Britta, shrinking to the shelter of a 


THE CllKONJCLK OF A CAMERA. 


300 

bush, saw them enter, but could not make 
out the man who had admitted them. 

In a few minutes, however, a light 
showed through the chinks in the blinds. 

Approaching them, Le Britta heard the 
sound of voices, and detected the odor of 
cigar smoke, so he knew that the windows 
beyond were missing or raised. 

He cautiously pressed an eye to a break in 
one of the shutters. 

His soul arose in arms, defiance and 
energy as he looked. 

For he had found the missing marplot of 
the drama begun at Hawthorne villa, and 
transferred to this lonely house by the river- 
side. 

Destiny had led him, strangely but surely, 
on the trail of the man he most wished to see 
of all men in the world. 

Ralph Durand was before him ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


301 


Chapter XXXIX. 

PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL. 

At a glance, Jera Le Britta discerned that 
the three men had met for an important con- 
sultation, and he prepared to listen to some 
enlightening revelations. 

They seemed to be the only occupants of 
the building, and Le Britta was apparently 
safe from discovery, for a time at least. 

‘'What’s the row, governor?” asked one 
of Durand’s two visitors, “ that we have to 
come here at this unusual hour.” 

“ Work’s the row,” replied Durand, sharp- 
ly — “work well paid for, so you needn’t 
grumble.” 

“ We don’t, on that score, but” 

“ I generally act for the best,’’ pursued the 
plotter. “You have had a remarkably easy 
time during the past week.” 

“Yes, watching the house where the girl 
is with the old woman so she don’t by any 
mischance escape is no great labor,” laughed 
one of the men. 

“ And she is safe ? ” 

“She’s there watched closely, and, be- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


302 

tween you and I, governor, too crushed and 
despondent to think of running away.” 

“ Good !” commented Durand, “that suits 
me. I fancy she realizes that to disobey me 
would involve her lover in serious trouble. 
Now, then, boys, you understand enough of 
this affair to realize that this same lover of 
hers, young Vance, is no friend of mine.” 

“We can surmise it, governor.” 

“ It is in my power to send him to the gal- 
lows. On the other hand, once free, he 
might accuse me in turn of the murder of 
old Gideon Vernon. He is a disturbing ele- 
ment in my calculations, and the only one. 
I have laid my plans for the future, and I 
don’t want them disturbed, so ” 

“You want to get rid of the young man in 
question,” slyly insinuated one of Durand’s 
companions. 

“ I must. While he is living and a prisoner, 
he is a menace to the girl. By threatening 
him, I keep her in my power. All this, how- 
ever, may lead to troublesome complications 
further on, so I have resolved on one grand, 
final move.” 

“ What is it, governor ? ” 

“ Money was my primal object in fighting 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


303 

for my position as guardian to Gladys Ver- 
non. To my disappointment, when I became 
legally appointed executor of the Vernon 
estates, I found them heavily mortgaged, and 
the proceeds had vanished. I imagine, I 
suspect that the girl or some of her friends 
know where this mortgage money is, and are 
keeping it in hiding until she becomes of age. 
However, even abandoning the hope of ever 
handling that ready cash, I find I can realize 
as much more by a bold move.” 

How’s that ? ” 

** Sell the property at a sacrifice.” 

Can you do it? ” 

With the girl’s consent.” 

Not without it ? ” 

“ Scarcely. So I have resolved to marry 
her, and end the complication summarily.” 

To marry Gladys Vernon ! The listening 
photographer thrilled at the revelation, more 
than that, he shuddered at the thought of 
that pure, beautiful girl wedded to a coarse, 
brutal villain, who, by thus wrecking her fain 
young life, would silence her lips against 
him, would enforce the sacrifice under threat 
of doom and death for her lover, Sydney 
Vance. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


304 

“The day that occurs,” went on the bold 
plotter, “I pay you each five hundered dol- 
lars.” 

“ And how can we help you ? ” asked both 
the men in an eager breath. 

“The young man Vance” 

“ He is here ? ” 

“ Near here. I have held him a close 
prisoner. The day of the murder he pursued 
me. We met, I overpowered him. Since 
then, in one place or another, he has been 
my captive. I want him removed. I dare 
not leave him alone^ for fear of escape. I 
dare not trust him in this district longer, for 
fear of discovery. To-night you are to re- 
move him.” 

“Where to?” 

“ Somewhere among the mining towns. 
Surely, you have cronies, friends who know 
of lonely caves, isolated huts, this or that 
out-of-the-way spot where he will be safe ? ” 

“ I reckon we can find such a place.” 

“I trust you to do it. You are to taTce 
charge of him, but watch him closely/" 

“ Never fear ! ” 

“ If he escapes, you lose the reward I 
have promised you. I leave him in your 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


305 

keeping. Then I shall propose marriage to 
the girl.” 

“ Will she consent ? ” 

'' Dare she refuse ? ” 

“Why?” 

“I tell you, the menace I hold against 
Vance terrorizes her completely. I may have 
to promise Vance his liberty — I may have 
to ask you to cause him to disappear mys- 
teriously.’^ 

The villain paused and glanced signifi- 
cantly at the two men. Both, murderous 
wretches that they were, sordid, conscience- 
less, the yellow glow of gold obliterated the 
lurid stain of blood for them, were the 
recompense only large and speedy. 

“Once I wed Gladys Vernon,” continued 
Durand, “ I am sure of a fortune. Then, a 
new scene of life, a foreign or a distant land, 
and let her friends and my foes discover what 
they will ! come.” 

“ Where ? ” queried one of the men, and 
all three of the conspirators arose to their 
feet. 

Durand did not reply, but led the way 
from the room. 

The interested and excited watcher at the 

20 


2o6 the chronicle of a camera. 

window drew into the shadow of some 
shrubbery. 

The trio came out into the garden, 
Durand in the lead ; they traversed its 
length, and disappeared in a stable. 

Le Britta got around to the building, and 
watched, keenly. 

In a few minutes a horse, attached to a 
covered wagon, was driven out. 

This vehicle was formed of boards that 
inclosed all the back of the driver’s seat 
completely, and was only accessible by two 
dpors which opened at the rear. 

These were now open, but Le Britta, peer- 
ing past the corner of the stable, could see 
that they were provided with a heavy iron 
staple, padlock and chain, for locking them 
securely. 

Further than that, he could make out the 
outlines of some human being lying on the 
bottom of the wagon. 

One of the men approached the wagon 
and seized the doors, to close and lock them. 

Just at that moment, however, Durand 
spoke : 

Here, Tom, Bill ! Fve got a bottle in 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


307 

the stable. Perhaps you’d like a sup before 
you start.” 

The man at the wagon doors abandoned 
his task at once, and he and his companion 
disappeared. with Durand into the stable. 

“ They have a man in that wagon — 
Vance ! ” ejaculated Le Britta, excitedly. 

What should he do ? Scarcely give battle 
to three armed foes, and he was hardly fit 
for a run of miles after that spirited steed. 

He glanced at the stable. At its rear end, 
he could see the three conspirators by the 
light of a lantern drinking from a bottle. 

They were not looking toward the wagon, 
and his opportunity seemed now or never. 

Springing forward, the venturesome Le 
Britta decided on a daring exploit to ascertain 
the identity of the prisoner in the vehicle, 
and rescue him if possible. 


Chapter XL. 

ESCAPE. 

Le Britta reached the wagon in a single 
bound 

Whatever was to be done must be executed 
quickly, he realized that fully. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


308 

Peering into the close wagon-box, he could 
make out plainly a human form lying pros- 
trate upon aheap of old grain bags. 

He ventured the utterance of a name — a 
surmise as to the identity of the* occupant of 
that dark wagon-box. 

'‘Vance — Sydney Vance!” he gasped, 
softly, but with startling distinctness. 

There was a rustle, a muffled ejaculation. 

“ Eh ! who is it ? ” 

“ A friend. You are Sidney Vance ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I thought so, listen ! we have not a 
moment to spare. I am Gladys Vernon’s, 
friend. I came to rescue you.” 

“ But those men ? ” 

“ Are momentarily out of sight. I will 
drag you out.” 

Le Britta seized the man’s feet. He calcu- 
lated on dragging him to the ground, and 
then, tied as he was, bodily carry him to 
some near retreat. 

“No! no!” dissented the captive, pant- 
ingly. “ I am bound.” 

“ I know that.” 

“Hand and foot.” 

“ Still ” 


THE chronicle of A CAMERA. 


309 

“You are tugging in vain. You cannot 
drag me out.” 

It did, indeed, seem as if the task was 
impossible — as if some obstacle offered a 
sturdy resistance to all Le Britta’s efforts. 

“What is the matter ? '' queried the photog- 
rapher, with an apprehensive glance toward 
the stable. 

“ I am also secured to a ring in the side of 
the wagon.” 

Le Britta uttered a concerned cry, but he 
was not yet daunted^. 

He clambered through the back of the 
vehicle, and groped in his pockets for a 
knife to sever the ropes securing the captive. 

“Too late ! ” gasped the latter, suddenly. 

“ Eh ! what now ?” 

“Those men!” 

Le Britta uttered a dismayed ejaculation. 

At just that moment Durand and his two 
accomplices came out from the stable. 

There was no time to spring to the ground 
and run for cover. He doubted even if his 
retreat was a safe one, as he shrunk back in 
the darkest corner of the wagon-box. 

“You understand, Tom,” spoke Durand. 


2 I o THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

“ Perfectly,” replied the man addressed, 
wiping his lips. 

His companion advanced to the rear of the 
vehicle and closed the doors with a crash, 
enveloping the startled Le Britta in complete 
darkness. 

“No danger of his getting away now!” 
laughed the man. 

“Scarcely,” spoke Durand. “You have 
your instructions. Don’t lose sight of the 
prisoner, and obey orders.” 

The two men jumped into the seat. Sep- 
arated from them by only the thin board par- 
tition, Jera Le Britta tried to realize the 
strange situation into which his rashness had 
preciptated him. 

His position was one of undoubted peril. 
He was weak, unarmed, practically at the 
mercy of two desperate foes, shut in to a 
prison-place from which escape would be 
difficult. 

The vehicle started up. Le Britta sank to 
the bottom of the wagon. He groped about 
until he established the position in which his 
companion in captivity lay. Then placing 
his lips close to his ears, he began a hurried, 
undertoned conversation. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 3 i t 

Who are you ? ” queried the prisoner, in 
a wondering tone. 

Le Britta explained sufficient to force the 
conviction that he was a friend. 

He had found his pocket-knife now, and 
he set straightway about relieving Vance of 
his bonds. 

A few deft strokes severed the ropes se- 
curing hands and feet. He untied the strong 
cords running to an iron ring sunk in the 
side of the wagon. 

“You are free,” whispered the photog- 
rapher. “Now, for liberty ! ” 

“ But how ? ” 

“Wait!” 

The jolting of the wagon and the grinding 
of the wheels masked Le Britta’s movements 
about the interior of the vehicle. He felt at 
the sides of the partition, behind the driver’s 
seat, at the bottom, top, and at the locked 
doors at the rear. 

“ We are tightly shut in,” he announced, 
coming back to Vance. 

“Then let us wait until they reach their 
destination.” 

“ And then ? ” 

“They will unlock the doors. We will 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


31 ^ 

spring out suddenly upon them, overcome 
them.” 

“ You forget — they are armed.” 

“ But we shall take them at a disadvan- 
tage,” persisted Vance. 

“And they may also halt amid friends as 
desperate and murderous as themselves.” 
never thought of that.” 

“No,” spoke Le Britta, thoughtfully, “our 
only hope of escaping their clutches^ safely, is 
to find some way of leaving the vehicle un- 
perceived by them before they reach their 
destination.” 

“ But, how ? ” 

That was, indeed, a serious question, and 
Le Britta reflected deeply. 

Their combined efforts, vigorously per- 
sisted in, might eventually enable them to 
burst open the rear doors, but the noise 
would disturb and warn their jailers, would 
lead to an investigation, and certainly end in 
recapture. 

“ Let us make a united rush for the doors,” 
murmured Vance. 

“They are strongly locked.” 

“ But we may burst them open at a single 
contact.” 


TitE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA, ji j 

And warn those men, even if we succeed.” 

‘‘Then it is fight or flight,” returned 
Vance, grimly. “ Come. Ready.” 

“Stop !” 

The desperate venture about to culminate, 
the voice of Le Britta sounded a peremptory 
halt. 

“What is it?” queried his companion, im- 
patiently. 

“I have discovered something.” 

“What?” 

“ A new possible means of escape. Give 
me time, Yes. I am positive.” 

Le Britta was feeling along the roof of the 
wagon-box. 

His hand reached up ; he had discovered a 
slight break in the sealed top. 

One board, about a foot wide, had given 
slightly under his touch, and as he pressed 
it, he found that it was loose from the rear 
end clear to the center of the wagon. 

It swayed upward about six inches, then 
some new resistance prevented further 
progress. 

“I see what the matter is,” he murmured. 

“ What ? ” queried the eager Vance. 


^ 1 4 THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

The top has a covering of water-proof. 
Wait. I can slit it.” 

By extending his knife past the loose 
board, the photographer was enabled to cut 
the outside covering. 

Pushing now on the board, it gave nearly 
a foot, and through the opening the stars 
were plainly visible. 

The center nail, however, held it firmly, so 
that it would spring back into place once the 
pressure of his hand was removed. 

“ If I hold it, can you creep through ? ” he 
queried of his companion. 

“Yes, readily; but you?” 

“ I will try to follow.” 

“^Good. I am ready.” 

Le Britta gave some quick whispered 
directions to his companion. 

He then pushed the board up as far as he 
could, and Vance, grasping the boards at 
the side, began to scramble through the 
aperture. 

It was a tight squeeze and fraught with 
considerable peril. 

Too much pressure on the board might 
pull the center nail loose, and although the 
hood over the driver s seat concealed them 


THE^ CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 3 i 3 

from the two men, once the board broke loose, 
the shock and crash would alarm them. 

The board shot back with the force of a 
lever on Le Britta’s fingers, as he saw Vance 
reach the top, scramble over it, and drop to 
the road from the rear of the vehicle. 

He was elated at the success of his experi- 
ment. He theorized that Vance would fol- 
low after the wagon until he had effected his 
own escape, when he would rejoin him. 

Resting a moment or two, Le Britta started 
to escape as his companion had done. 

A sigh of dismay escaped his lips, as he 
lifted himself to the aperture. 

For just then he made a distressing dis- 
covery. 

It was easy to get out with some one to 
hold the board up for the escaping person, 
but unaided, Le Britta vainly strove to force 
head and shoulders through the opening. 

The board, taut as a steel trap, would not 
give sufficiently. 

With a concerned face, the photographer 
dropped back to the bottom of the wagon- 
box: 

He was fairly in a trap of his own making 
— he had sacrificed his own safety for that of 


3 1 6 77/i5 CHRONICLE OP A CAMERA. 

Vance, and his escape now depended solely 
on outside assistance. 


Chapter XLI. 

IN PERIL. 

The wagon had commenced to go slower, 
and the anxious Le Britta could estimate 
that they had proceeded at least five miles, 
and were probably nearing their destination. 

He saw at a glance his mistake in directing 
Vance to make haste in leaving the wagon- 
top once free of the aperture, for had he re- 
mained only a moment to hold up the loose 
plafik while Le Britta crawled through, both 
would now be speeding away to liberty. 

Where was Vance ? Surely, he would not 
leave his rescuer in peril, coward-like, abandon 
him to his fate ! 

No ; a slight jangle at the rear doors told 
that some one was fumbling with the lock. 
Then the doors creaked and strained, but 
they remained intact, and Le Britta knew 
that his friend must be following the wagon 
under the cover of the darkness and gloom 
of the night. 


THE CHROmCLE OF A CAMERA. 


317 

No further evidence of the proximity of 
his late companion in captivity was forthcom- 
ing for nearly half an hour. 

Then, in a manner most original and start- 
ling, Sidney Vance announced his fealty to 
his rescuer and his desperate resolve to 
reach and aid him, even at the cost of dis- 
covery, and an unequal conflict with the two 
knaves on the wagon-seat, who, all unconscious 
of what had so far occurred, smoked placidly 
and indulged in occasional conversation. 

Of a sudden, something landed against 
the two locked doors of the vehicle with a 
force that split one of the panels clear in 
twain. 

Pieces of rock and splintered wood were 
showered about the astonished Le Britta as 
that crash resounded, and the horse started 
up affrighted. 

Instantly, too, Le Britta saw out into the 
road through the broken door, and discerned 
also that the rent thus made in the thin wood 
could be enlarged to an aperture of escape 
very speedily, were time only afforded. 

“Whoa!” 

The imperious command rang out, the 
lines were jerked, the horse shrank to its 


3 1 8 the chronicle of a camera, 

haunches, and there was a hurried commo- 
tion on the front seat. 

“ What was that ? ” 

“ A crash ! ” 

It struck the wagon ? ’’ 

“Jump down and see.” 

Abandoning the seat, both men sprang to 
the roadway, and ran around to the rear of 
the vehicle. 

“ Tom, look here.” 

“Mercy ! what does this mean ? ” 

Ralph Durand’s fellow-plotters viewed the 
rent in the wagon-door agape. 

“ He’s tried to break out ! ” cried one. 

“No, don’t you see? The damage has 
been done from the outside.” 

“ But how ? ” 

“A rock. See! the jagged ends of this 
board ? ” 

“ Maybe he’s escaped ? ” 

“ What ! tied hand and foot ? ” 

“But” 

“ I’ll look and see.” 

One of the men drew forth a match and 
ignited it. 

Extending it through the rent, he peered 
into the darksome void beyond. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 319 

Great goodness ! it's” 

The sentence was not concluded, for as, 
wonder-eyed, incredulous, the startled eyes 
of the plotter took in the outlines of the form 
in the wagon, that form sprang forward. 

Puff! a quick breath blew out the match. 
Recoiling, the man seemed too overcome 
to speak. ^ 

‘'Tom ! " he gasped. 

“Well?” 

“ He ain’t there ! ” 

“ What 1 ” 

“ No — he’s gone.” 

“Gone? why — I hear him moving about.” 
“ Yes, but it ain’t our man ! ” 

“ Nonsense I ” 

“ It’s another, and he ain’t bound.” 

“ Ridiculous ! ” 

“ Look and see ! ” 

The other flared a second match. A sud- 
den cry announced his surprise, but he was 
quicker to act than the other. 

“Treachery ! trickery 1 ” he cried. 

“ It ain’t our man ? ” 

“No.” 

“It’s another” 


320 the chronicle of a camera. 

“ Back ! ” yelled the man. He may be 
armed.” 

He, himself, drew a revolver. Excited, 
dubious, he extended it toward the wagon. 

At that moment, from some bushes lining 
the road, though unperceived by the two 
startled men, a human hand was raised. 

A rock struck the hand of the man clutch- 
ing the weapon. 

It fell from his nerveless grasp, but, as it 
did so, one chamber exploded with a start- 
ling report. 

The horse, affrighted, sprang forward. 

The sudden jerk sent the anxious Le Britta 
flat on his back. Ere he could again struggle 
to his feet, he realized that he was the victim 
of a runaway. 


Chapter XLII. 

A STRANGE COMPLICATION. 

“Whoa! whoa!” yelled the two men, in 
unison, but their cries and their springs after 
the flying horse and vehicle were fruitless to 
stay a terrified runaway. 

It seemed to Le Britta that the wagon was 



P. 259.- Into the wretched hut Edna ushered them. 







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THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


321 

going at the rate of a fast express train. He 
was knocked from side to side of the vehicle, 
which tipped, jolted and jarred as if threaten- 
ing every moment to come to a halt, a 
wreck. 

He made one frantic effort to reach the 
hole in the door made by the rock, enlarge it, 
spring through it. 

With the wagon dashing along at break- 
neck pace, however, he could enforce no 
systematic plan of operations, and he saw at 
a glance out upon the starlit road, that a fall 
there would be perilous in the extreme. 

Even in th^ uncertain light of the night he 
could make out the winding road. A curve 
had shut out friend and foes alike. No 
houses or lights were visible, and the road 
seemed to be inclining steeply. 

With added momentum, steed and vehicle 
now dashed forward. A thundering noise 
caused Le Britta to look out. 

The wild runaway had reached a planked 
bridge. Half-way across it there came a 
shock that jarred every nerve of Le Britta’s 
system. 

There was a crash, a stumble, a loud neigh 
of terror, and then the horse dashed away 

21 


32 2 the chronicle of a camera. 

again^ fleet as the wind, but no longer en^ 
cumbered with the wagon. 

That, with its human captive, had, it seemed, 
struck a post in the railing of the bridge. It 
crashed, it toppled. There was a tearing 
sound, and over and over it went, ripping the 
bridge guard from place and carrying it with 
it in a mad dive* for the surface of the turbu- 
lent stream fully twenty feet below. 

Splash ! 

A confused sense of peril flashed upon 
Le Britta’s senses. 

Then, as he lay a huddled heap in one cor- 
ner of the box, two discoveries thrilled his 
soul vaguely — the current of the river was 
carrying the dismantled vehicle down stream, 
and the box was filling with water ! 

It seemed to eddy, whirl and totter, and 
gain additional velocity each moment. It 
careened, upset, a choking flood of waters 
rose breast-high, and then a second crash 
half-stunned the imperiled captive. 

That crash announced liberty, however, if 
nothing else, for striking some rock in mid- 
stream, the battered wagon-box split clear in 
twain. 

Exhausted, weak and half-blinded, Le 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


323 

Britta managed to swim to the shore. There 
upon the shingly beach he lay, one hour or 
ten, he knew not which, for insensibility in- 
stantly supervened. 

The first gray tints of dawn were streaking 
the eastern horizon as he again staggered to 
his feet. 

His senses swam still, and his brain seemed 
benumbed. Without coherency or motive, 
he wandered from the spot. 

Broad daylight found him nearing a collec- 
tion of huts marking some poor industrial 
center. Into one that was deserted he stag- 
gered. 

It seemed complete luxury to rest again. 
It seemed as if the tired senses demanded 
inertia, forgetfulness. 

For one hour he tossed in nervous, rest- 
less dozing, then profound slumber ensued, 
and then, gradually, he seemed to awake, 
refreshed, rejuvenated, to the old practical 
life again. 

Where was he ? that was easy to figure 
out. And Vance and his two captors ? What 
had become of them ? 

Le Britta walked to the door of the hut. 
Eventide ! For twelve hours he had slum- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


324 

bered, while the scoundrelly Durand was con- 
summating his evil projects, he had lain inert ! 
but there was one satisfaction — his victim, 
Vance, was probably at liberty. 

Le Britta saw the lights of a little town 
about half-a-mile distant, and proceeded 
thither. His clothes had become torn, be- 
spattered with mire, soaked in the wagon and 
the river, and at a small clothing establish- 
ment he purchased a new outfit. 

Was he near to the center of operations 
of the plotters ? Certainly somewhere near 
here the fair Gladys was a prisoner, and the 
plotting Durand made his headquarters. 

A meal and rest put the photographer in 
shape for action, and apparently action was 
needed in behalf of those he would befriend 
now if ever. 

He made some inquiries at the restaurant, 
but its proprietor, a stolid German, announced 
himself as a recent arrival, and not at all 
familiar with the surroundings of the village 
or it people. 

The minister knew everything, he stated, 
and the minister s home was down the street, 
“that way,” and he indicated a neat cottage 
a square or two distant. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


325 

Le Britta proceeded thither. It would do 
no harm to make a few inquiries, but when 
he rang at the door bell of the house there 
was no reply to his summons, and he decided 
that the entire family must be away. 

In a thoughtful mood, he sat down on the 
porch steps of the cottage. 

What to do next ? was the question, and a 
most difficult one to answer. 

He had failed signally in attempting to 
rescue the stolen Vernon fortune from Darius 
Meredith. To return to that individual and 
charge him with attempted murder would be 
to meet open denial and defiance. No, he 
had played a bold game, and had lost, and 
the wily Meredith would not be taken un- 
awares again, he felt assured. 

He had liberated Vance — that was one 
definite and important step accomplished. 
If he could only find him again ! — if he could 
only locate Gladys Vernon, and rescue her. 
•If he could only reunite these two, and say : 
‘'Let the fortune go — seek happiness in 
some other country.” 

The gate clicked, and Le Britta looked up 
quickly. Was it the minister returned ? 

No, for the new-comer had arrived driving 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA 


326 

a close carriage, and as he walked up th6 
graveled path his attire and manner evinced 
nothing professional or refined. 

‘‘Are you Mr. Dane — the clergyman?'' 
queried the new-comer, quite eagerly. 

“ No,” sprang to Jera Le Britta’s lips, but 
the word was checked instantly. 

For, with a start, he recognized the 
stranger as one of the very men who had 
carried him into captivity in the close wagon 
the night previous. 

Some quick intuition of thought caused Le 
Britta to parley with the man. 

“What did you want ? ” he asked, simply. 

“A marriage, sir,” replied the man. “ I 
wish you to officiate at a marriage ceremony 
at once.” 


Chapter XLIII. 

AT THE OLD HOUSE. 

Jera Le Britta tried hard to preserve a 
composed demeanor, as the last words of the 
driver of the carriage at the gate revealed to 
him in a flash the golden opportunity of a 
lifetime. 

It did not require much thinking to surmise 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 32 ^ 

the true condition of affairs. The man 
before him was one of Ralph Durand’s fellow- 
plotters, and he had been sent hither for the 
village clergyman. 

Why ? why, but to enable Durand to carry 
out his previously-announced plans ? Doubt- 
lessly, the two men had hastened to Durand 
after the runaway accident, and had reported 
the escape of Sydney Vance* Thoroughly 
frightened, the villain had been obliged to act 
quickly. He proposed to hasten the marriage 
ceremony. He had sent this man to secure 
a licensed clergyman to officiate. 

He did not know Le Britta, for that mo- 
mentary glance through the broken door of 
the prison-wagon had been too fleeting to fix 
his features on his mind. More than that, 
he did not know the clergyman by sight. 

“ He takes me for the minister,” murmured 
Le Britta, excitedly. 

A wild suggestion entered the photogra- 
pher’s mind. Recent perils, a late acquaint- 
ance with exciting and unfamiliar progress 
of a decidedly sensational nature, had made 
him more reckless than usual. 

Dare he assume the place of the clergy- 


328 the chronicle of a camera. 

man — dare he accompany the man in the 
carriage ? 

What would be the result ; whither would 
it lead him ? Productive of benefit or trouble^ 
the intrepid Le Britta was resolved to locate 
the imprisoned Gladys Vernon, was deter- 
mined to save her from wedding the scouif- 
drel Durand if possible. 

“Ah! a marriage ceremony,” spoke Le 
Britta, with quiet dignity. “Where are the 
parties to the contract?” 

“It’s — it’s ^quite a distance, sir?” spoke 
the man with marked agitation. “It’s — it’s 
a peculiar case.” 

“ It must be, to include such haste. May 
I ask who sent you ? ” 

“My — my friend, sir; a. Mr. Durand. 
Quite wealthy gentleman.” 

“ And the bride ? ” 

“A young lady. Both are awaiting you. 
I was instructed to say to you that yovir fee 
will be large and promptly paid. In advance, 
if you like. Please don’t disappoint me, sir ! 
You are the only clergyman in the district 
we can reach.” 

“ Very well, I will go,” announced Le Britta. 

The driver seemed delighted. He hurried 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


329 

him to the carriage, bestowed him safely 
within, and, springing to the seat, urged up 
the horses. 

Jera Le Britta reflected seriously. It was 
easy to accept a situation, but far more diffi- 
cult to face it when its issues became compli- 
cated. He saw his mistake as he cogitated 
over the possible results of his strange jour- 
ney. When they arrived at their destination 
he would find himself in the midst of Durand 
and his friends, and probably at some isolated 
spot. He should have learned more from the 
driver — have secured police assistance — a 
score of theories presented themselves to his 
mind, now that it was too late to act. 

The carriage proceeded swiftly. It must 
have traversed fully ten miles by lonely and 
unfrequented roads ere a halt was made. 
Le Britta was astonished as he looked from 
the carriage, for the spot was the self-same 
one by the riverside whither the boat had 
taken him the evening previous — the lonely 
house where he had sprung into the prison- 
wagon to rescue Sydney Vance. 

Twice Le Britta was on the point of spring- 
ing from the vehicle and escaping, for he - 
foresaw nothing but trouble when he was 


THE CHROHiCLE OF A CAMERA. 


330 

confronted by Durand and recognized by hirn, 
as he would certainly be. The thought that 
in every dilemma of the past, however, aid 
had tome at ah unexpected time, a realization 
of the fact that within an hour the destiny of 
innocent Gladys Vernon would be made or 
marredj nerved the photographer to proceed 
with the exploit in hand, at least until he had 
penetrated the lair of the enemy, and had 
learned how the land lay. 

'' This way, sir,” spoke the driver, as the 
carriage halted. 

It was directly at the side of the old house 
and near a vine-covered porch, and as he 
sprang from the driver’s seat and opened the 
carriage door, he started up the steps. 

“ Rather dark and mysterious this, I fancy,” 
murmured Le Britta. 

Eh ? Oh ! that’s all right, sir. There’s 
only a few minutes’ talk, a big fee, sir, and 
I’ll drive you home again.” 

But why all this haste ? ” persevered Le 
Britta. 

‘'Mr. Durand will explain all that satisfac- 
torily to you. This way; just sit down for a 
minute or two, and excuse the darkness. I’ll 
bring a lamp and Mr. Durand.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 33 ! 

He pushed a common wooden chair toward 
Le Britta as he spoke. The latter could not 
see it, he could only feel it, and, groping 
about, he sat down and waited in painful 
reflection. 

The door stood open, the horses and car- 
riage were without, escape lay at hand. It 
was not too Jate yet to retreat. 

He listened. Only the departing footsteps 
of the driver down some uncarpeted corridor 
echoed vaguely on his hearing. 

Was Gladys Vernon in the building? 
Were Durand and the driver the only 
other occupants ? 

“ If I only had a weapon,” murmured Le 
Britta, I would boldly face these scoundrels. 
As it is ” 

He took a step toward the door. Retreat 
seemed prudent. Better to watch the house 
in hiding, than risk exposure and defeat by 
boldly facing overpowering numbers. 

Just then, however, from the direction the 
driver had taken, sounded footsteps, then a 
light glowed, and then a quick voice spoke 
sharply — 

Who’s that ? ” 


3^2 CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 

'‘Durand’s voice!” murmured Le Britta, 
excitedly. 

“Tom.” 

“ Ah I you have returned ? Glad of it. 
Bill only just came back. I was afraid you 
might miss finding a minister, so I posted 
him off, too.” 

“ Well, I’ve got your man.” • 

“ What man ? ” 

“ Mr. Dane, the minister at Acton.” 

“What!” 

Durand’s tones expressed the profoundest 
surprise. 

“ I say I’ve got the minister.” 

“ Mr. Dane of Acton ? ” 

“Yes, just brought him. He’s in that 
room waiting to see you.” 

“Nonsense ! ” 

“Why.” 

“Nonsense, I say!” reiterated Durand, 
forcibly. “ Bill himself has just brought Mr. 
Dane of Acton, and he’s with the bride 
now ! ” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


333 


Chapter XLIV. 

LIBERTY ! 

Le Britta started violently. The revela- 
tion contained in the unexpected announce- 
ment of Durand fairly electrified him. 

The assumption he had undertaken was 
about to lead him into complications and 
difficulties, likely to arouse suspicion and 
enmity at once, feven if he was not recognized 
by the plotter. 

He heard Durand’s assistant whistle incred- 
ulously. 

“The minister, Mr. Dane, with the bride ?” 
he repeated, blankly. 

“Yes,” returned Durand. 

“And I just brought him” 

“ You did not.” 

“From his very home” 

“ I say, you didn’t ! ” retorted Durand, 
irritably. 

“ Will you come and see ? ” 

“Well, I will ; but, as I know Dane, I am 
not likely to be mistaken.” 

“Then my man ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ He must b^ an impostor.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


334 

“ Or worse.” 

“Eh?” 

“A spy. Hist! We’ll take him off his 
guard.” 

Le Britta bristled with excitement. He 
glided across the room. His intention was 
to make for the outside door. 

At just that moment, however, a gust of 
wind drove the door to with a slam. Le 
Britta sprang to the knob and seized it. A 
spring lock, it held firm, and he had no time 
to seek out its mechanism. 

He dashed across the room, as in the 
approaching light of the lamp in the hands 
of one of the intruders, he made out a door- 
way dimly. The door yielded to his touch. 
He crossed its threshold, to find himself in a 
dark, narrow corridor; penetrated its length, 
passed up a stairway, and halted, thrilled and 
uncertain, at the sound of a familiar voice 
that recalled the past vividl}^ 

“ Gladys Vernon 1 ” he murmured, ex- 
citedly. 

Yes, the heiress of Hawthorne villa was 
certainly in the room beyond, and she was 
speaking. 

In a low, tremulous, pleading tone of voice, 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 335 

her accents fell distinctly upon Jera Le 
Britta’s strained hearing-. 

He could not catch her words, but he 
knew that the poor girl, faced with the dread 
alternative of wedding a scoundrel or send- 
ing her lover to the gallows, was pouring her 
sorrows into the ears of the clergyman. 

“My poor child!” he heard the latter 
speak; “this is really an unexpected dis- 
closure. I was led to suppose that you were 
a willing party to the ceremony. I declare I 
I hardly know how to act in the matter. 
You say you will marry him, and yet you 
shrink from him. I will see Mr. Durand. I 
will talk with him.” 

Le Britta had just time to secrete himself 
in a shadowed niche in the corridor, as the 
door of the room, on which his attention and 
interest were centered, opened, and a flare 
of light illumined its threshold. 

He heard the minister grope his way down 
the corridor and descend the stairs. He had 
gone in quest of Durand. 

In a flash Jera Le Britta had opened the 
door just closed. Into the room he sprang. 

“ Gladys — Miss Vernon ! ” 

In pity and concern he regarded the pale^ 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


336 

faced girl before him, who, with startled 
alarm, stood regarding him. 

“ You do not know me ? ” he began. 

“No — yes — oh, Mr. Le Britta ! 

Sobbing amid her despair, tottering to his 
support as to that of a true friend, Gladys’ 
eyes, so full of anguish, showed a token of 
recognition. . 

Le Britta’s'nerves were at a high tension. 
He realized that the most vital moment in 
the affairs of the persecuted heiress and her 
friends had arrived ; that there was no time 
to lose in explanations.* Delay meant peril 
— deep, certain, ^disastrous. 

“ Miss Vernon,” he spoke, hurriedly and 
seriously, “I understand all. Do not speak 
or delay. Follow me.” 

“Oh ! Mr. Le Britta” 

‘'Yonder door ! It leads ” 

“ To the garden.” 

“ Then, hasten ! ” 

“ It is locked.” 

“The window, then ! ” 

Le Britta hurried to the window in ques- 
tion. He raised it and glanced out. A few 
feet below was the garden. 

Gladys had not followed him. She still 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


337 

Stood in the center of the room, swaying, 
wondering, in doubt. 

“Come ! ” he spoke, peremptorily, almost 
sharply. 

“ You wish me to leave here ?” 

“Yes. We must fly without a moment’s 
delay.” 

Gladys uttered a faint wail of distress and 
despair. 

“ Mr. Le Britta, I dare not ! ” she moaned. 

“ Dare not seek liberty ? ” 

“No.” 

“ After captivity, suffering. To remain 
here means sacrifice, doom.” 

“ I cannot help it,” murmured Gladys, 
brokenly. “ Oh ! you do not know ! ” 

“ Yes, I do know !” interrupted Le Britta, 
vehemently. “ I comprehend, now. That 
scoundrel, Durand — you fear his power ! ” 

“ He threatens.'' 

“What?” 

“ My lover, Sydney Vance. He is a pris- 
oner in his power.” 

“No!” 

“ He told me ” 

“ Falsehoods ! Sydney Vance is free,” 

“ Free ? ” 

22 


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33S 

'‘Yes, Gladys, I beseech of you, do not 
delay. Hark ! They are coming this way. 
You must, you shall escape ! ” - 

Almost forcibly Le Britta drew the dis^ 
tracted girl toward the open window. 

He lifted her through. The very moment 
they reached the ground, a wild ejaculation 
of alarm echoed through the apartment they 
had just vacated. 

“ Gone — the girl is not here ! ” rang out 
Durand’s excited tones. 

“ Run — do not tremble so, I will see you 
safely beyond that villain’s power, believe 
me!” breathed Le Britta as, clasping Gladys’ 
hand, he started along the side of the house. 

Looking back, however, the photographer 
discerned new cause for alarm. 

Durand had discovered the avenue of 
escape of his fair prisoner, and at that 
moment leaped out into the garden. 

A little ahead Le Britta made out the car- 
riage that had brought him hither. The 
horses stood unhitched and no one near 
them. 

“ Gain that vehicle,” he spoke, hurriedly, to 
Gladys. “ Ah ! here we are. Quick! Jump 
in ! ” 


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339 

He tore open the carriage door, and forced 
the girl within. Then he made a spring for 
the driver’s seat. 

A quick hand grasped him, however, a 
fierce, hissing breath grazed his ear. 

“You meddling impostor ! Who are you ?” 

“ Release me.” 

In the powerful arms of Durand, held at 
a disadvantage, Le Britta could only strug- 
gle helplessly. 

A swirling cut on the air mingled with a 
thud and a gasp of dismay, and the hold of 
the plotter was suddenly released. 

Turning dismayed, the startled Le Britta 
saw a form on the carriage-seat whirl the 
whip. 

He must have just sprang there from the 
other side, for it was a stunning contact from 
the heavy whip-handle that had laid Durand 
prostrate on the ground. 

There he lay, dazed, helpless, for the mo- 
ment at least. 

“ Into the carriage, quick ! ” ordered an im- 
perious voice to Le Britta. 

“ Mercy ! ” breathed the photographer, with 
wondering emphasis. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


340 

‘'That voice — oh! my wronged love!” 
murmured Gladys. 

"It is Vance!” gasped Le Britta, as he 
sprang into the carriage beside the trembling^ 
excited girl. 

Yes, it was Vance, arrived, it seemed, just 
in time to turn the balance in favor of im- 
periled friends. 

The horses leaped forward at the crack of 
the whip. Speeding down the road, Le 
Britta ventured a look backward. 

"They are following — the other carriage ! ” 
he ejaculated. 

"They shall never overtake us,” muttered 
the resolute driver. " Gladys, courage ! We 
are free at last ! ” 

Gladys uttered a joyful cry at her lover’s 
cheering tones. With eye, hand and whip, 
Vance urged forward the mettled steeds. 

Suddenly he brought them to a halt, that 
jarred the vehicle in every spring. 

" What is the trouble ? ” called out Le 
Britta, apprehensively. 

"Blocked.” 

"How?” 

"No bridge. See! the river — the shore 
— but the bridge is down,” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 34 £ 

^‘Why?" 

We have taken the wrong road.” 

“And they are in pursuit ! ” 

“ Shall we make a stand ?” 

“ Unarmed? It would be folly.” 

“Ah ! ” exclaimed Vance, suddenly. “ Here 
is a road.” 

He directed the horses down a rough, 
rutty side-road. He halted a second time, 
dismayed, however, for the horses reared and 
plunged as they were met by a formidable 
heap of brush piled up directly in their 
course. 

“No thoroughfare !” murmured Le Britta. 

“ Then we must make a stand and fight for 
it,” announced young Vance, determinedly. 

He had sprung from the carriage seat, and 
now tore open the door of the vehicle. 

Gladys sprang to his arms like a fluttering, 
frightened dove. 

“ Oh, Sydney ! I fear, I tremble ! ” she 
panted. 

“ They shall never tear you from my side 
again ! ” spoke Vance, resolutely. 

“The lamp — extinguish it! That has 
guided those men after us,” ejaculated Le 
Britta, suddenly. 


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342 

Too late ! they are coming this way,” re- 
plied Vance. 

Down the road three forms were indeed 
speeding. Durand and his two villainous 
adherents. 

Hot on the chase, they had located their 
prey, whom the taking of a wrong road had 
led into a trap. 

“ Vance, quick ! look here ! ” spoke Le 
Britta, hurriedly. 

He had been investigating their surround- 
ings, and not ten feet down a shelving bank 
he discovered the river rolling swiftly. 

The young man was by his side in an 
instant. 

“The river!'’ he cried, with a start. “I 
could swim, but she — ah ! a raft, look I ” 

With a glad cry he returned to Gladys. 
He hurried down the bank. 

Moored there was a rude raft, and across 
it lay a pole. Young Vance estimated the 
distance across the stream. It was not far, 
but, with some apprehension, he noted the 
swift central current of the river. 

“ They are coming,” announced Le Britta, 
gazing down the road. 

“ Gladys, here, quick ! aboard ! ” 


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343 


‘‘ Oh, Sydney ! it rocks — is it safe ? ” 

It is our only, our last resource, my 
friend, Le Britta ” 

Vance untied the rope, secured the raft 
to a tree, and siezed the pole. He tried to 
hold the rude craft stationary for the photog- 
rapher to join him. 

At just that moment their pursuers came 
up to the spot. Durand sprang boldly down 
the slope. 

“Rush on them! seize Vance, secure the 
girl ! he raved, excitedly. 

“ Back, stand back 1” ordered Le Britta. 

He had seized a branch of a tree lying on 
the beach. This he swung about his head, 
keeping the plotter momentarily at bay. 

“ Pole out, never mind me ! ” he shouted 
to his friends on the raft. 

There seemed no need of the injunction. 
The raft had floated from shore, the rope 
once untied. Just as it was drawn into the 
central current of the stream, a cry of alarm 
rang across the still waters. 

“ Mercy ! ” gasped the petrified Le Britta. 

The branch with which he had kept Durand 
at bay dropped from his nerveless fingers, and 


rilE CkRONICLE OE A CAMEkA. 


344 

the latter, like himself, abandoned the con- 
flict to watch the raft in mid-stream. 

In that mad swirl of waters the guiding 
oar had been suddenly swept from Sydney 
Vance’s grasp. At the complete mercy of 
the rushing vortex, the raft circled, toppled, 
swept wildly forward. 

Le Britta could see the terrified Gladys 
cling to her lover. The face of the latter 
was white with anxiety. 

“They are lost!” rang from the lips of 
Durand as he ran down the shore, all heed- 
less of Le Britta, to keep the imperiled 
refugees in sight. 

“The falls!” echoed the tones of one of 
his fellow-plotters from the embankment 
above. They are doomed ! ” 

A groan of horror burst from Le Britta’s 
lips. He saw the raft whirl around. It was 
borne out of sight, it seemed to dip, it 
shot past an intervening rock, and when it 
appeared beyond, making fast and furious for 
the falls, the brave lover of Gladys Vernon, 
the beautiful orphan heiress herself, had 
been swallowed up by those dark waters ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


345 


Chapter XLV. 

NEARING THE END. 

“ Why ! where are the folks ? ” 

Jera Le Britta asked the question in a tone 
of profound surprise, one morning, two days 
after the occurrence of the tragic events at 
the riverside. 

His face was pale and anxious, his man- 
ner grave, haunted with the grief and uncer- 
tainty that comes from solicitude, care and 
disappointment, and he had just reached his 
home door-step, and had peered through the 
open windows to find the usual joyous 
laughter of the little ones absent, the happy, 
gentle face of his beloved helpmate nowhere 
in sight. 

A servant had me.t him with a welcoming 
grin. 

“ Mrs. Le Britta and the children have 
gone, sir,” was her reply to the photograph- 
er’s quick query. 

“ Gone ? ” 

'‘Yes, sir.” 

“Where?” 

“ To a picnic. The doctor and Miss Maud 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


346 

would take them. They have gone to 
Pomme-de-terre cliffs. They didn’t expect 
you home, sir.’^ 

Le Britta smiled a trifle sadly. He pur- 
sued his inquries sufficiently to know just 
where he would find them, he brushed up his 
rather disordered attire, proceeded to a livery 
stable, and was soon speeding down a 
smooth, broad road, intent on joining the 
loved ones in their brief summer outing. 

It was a beautiful day, but Le Britta’s 
heart was scarcely in harmony with its peace- 
ful loveliness. 

A deep sadness haunted his heart, a fer- 
yent grief racked his thoughts. After all his 
earnest efforts to aid Gladys Vernon, it 
seemed as if fate had ordained a terrible 
destiny for the poor, persecuted child of 
fortune. 

For that scene at the riverside had found 
a most tragic ending. Running down its 
shores, endeavoring to keep in sight the 
rushing raft, the surface of the stream, in 
appalled horror, the photographer had ar- 
rived at the falls, to see the frail craft dashed 
to pieces on the rocks below, and its late un- 
fortunate occupants nowhere in view. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


347 

Everything was forgotten in the disaster 
of the hour. Durand, white to the lips with 
dread, sought side by side with the anguished 
Le Britta for some trace of the missing lov- 
ers. Long before dawn, every member of 
the searching party had decided that the 
bodies of the refugees had been swept miles 
away down the turbulent river, below the 
falls. 

Durand disappeared ere Le Britta could 
find heart to condemn him for all his plotting 
and cruelty that had availed his wicked soul 
naught, but had brought death to two loving 
creatures. 

All the next day Le Britta sought vainly 
for some trace of them, and then, over- 
whelmed with grief, he proceeded to Haw- 
thorne villa, acquainted Gladys’ friends, the 
lawyer and the doctor with the details of the 
tragedy, and returned sadly homeward. 

Little heart had he in festivity, but he felt 
that he needed the sympathy of a loving wife 
and friend amid his dark sorrow. He drove 
along the smooth country road toward 
Pomme-de-terre cliffs, realizing gravely that 
his efforts in behalf of the wronged and perse- 


J48 the chronicle of a camera. 

cutecl victims of crime had failed of one 
tangible result. 

“ Gladys and Vance dead, Durand free, the 
fortune gone ! ” he murmured, depressed and 
sad. “ It ends the case in gloom and dis- 
aster.” 

Pomme-de-terre cliffs was a typical picnic 
ground. The bluffs, the river and grand 
alternations of forest and plain made it doubly 
attractive, and even at a distance the 
thoughtful Le Britta could make out gay 
little parties of pleasure-seekers. At last, 
near the old rustic mill at the river he caught 
sight of a familiar dress, a pretty blending of 
blue and amber he had often admired on his 
charming helpmeet. He drove the horse to 
a shady grove, dismounted, and approached 
the cool spot near the river. 

“ Jera, old friend ! ” 

“Dick!” exclaimed Le Britta, turning 
sharply as, making his way toward the river, 
he was suddenly challenged. 

Dr. Richard Milton grasped Le Britta’s 
hand heartily. His keen eyes scanned his 
friend’s face, penetratingly. 

“ You have bad news, Jera,” he remarked, 
I can see it in your eyes.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


349 

“Yes, Dick,” replied the photographer, 
gloomily, “the very worst news, but it must 
not distress the little ones and our friends 
yonder. I have no right to bring gloom 
upon their enjoyment.” 

“ You must tell me, all the same,” persisted 
the doctor ; and forthwith he led his friend to 
a grassy knoll, where Le Britta soon related 
all his tragic story. 

Doctor Milton listened with a grave, start- 
led face. He could not conceal his deep dis- 
tress and agitation when the photographer 
had concluded his graphic recital. 

“Too bad!” he commented, “for I was 
just beginning to see some very bright light 
on a very dark subject.” 

“ Concerning this same theme ? ” 

“The Vernon case? Yes.” 

“ I do not understand you, Dick ?” 

“ You remember the tramp ?” 

“ Dave Wharton ? Yes.” 

“ And his daughter ? ” 

“Poor, brave child! I can never forget 
her.” 

“ You know, when you left me, I promised 
to look after them ? ” 

“ Which, of course, you did,” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


350 

“Yes ; but I could not spare the time to go 
to the deserted cabin where they lived, and I 
removed them nearer home, near here, in a 
pleasant cottage, in fact.” 

“Always kind as ever to the poor in dis- 
tress, Dick ! ” murmured Le Britta, earnestly. 

“The little one fascinated me with her pa- 
tience and affection. I fancied I might 
operate and restore her sight. At all events, 
the serious illness of her father called for 
grave attention — I removed them, as I say.” 

“ And the tramp ? ” 

“ Got decidedly better. I went to the 
cottage one day to witness a touching scene. 
The little child was kneeling by his bedside 
praying for him, and he was in tears. I 
thought it a good time to tell him all. I did 
so. I made him realize all you had done for 
him ; I made him comprehend the importance 
of his proving Ralph Durand the murderer 
of old Gideon Vernon. From that moment, 
he seemed a changed man. Thoughtful, 
silent, he would mysteriously say when I 
broached the subject of the missing fortune : 
‘Wait till Mr. Le Britta comes back.’ One 
day he disappeared, to return two days later. 
Since then, he has been in a feverish state 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


351 

of excitement to see you. Your folks wanted 
an outing, and I brought them here. The 
blind child and her father are with them in 
the grove yonder. I am curious to learn 
what revelations Wharton has to make to 
you, for I believe that they are important, 
and refer to the Vernon case.” 

'■'Alas!” murmured Le Britta, brokenly, 
"of what avail are revelations, now that 
Gladys and Vance are both dead ! ” 

He accompanied the doctor to the little 
group near the river, however. There was a 
hearty greeting, and it was only after wife 
and children and pretty Miss Maud had over- 
whelmed him with anxious questions that he 
found time to speak to the little blind girl. 

Her angelic face lit up with delight at his 
friendly tones. Her father looked like a new 
man in proper clothing, with the signs of his 
former dissipation vanished from his face, as, 
gravely, anxiously, he said : 

" Mr. Le Britta, I wish to speak to you 
confidentially.” 

Le Britta led the way from the spot. 

" It s about the treasure, the hundred 
thousand dollars,” spoke the tramp; "you 


see 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


352 

There was an interruption. As he spoke 
a wild form dashed through the trees across 
their path. 

It was that of a girl, young, pale, beautiful. 
With a terrified shriek she ran toward them, 
clasping her hands piteously, gazing back as 
if apprehensive of pursuit. 

“Save me!’’ she cried, wildly, “oh, save 
me ! ” 

Jera Le Britta recoiled as he regarded the 
forlorn figure before him. 

For, wonder of wonders, the dead come to 
life, the grave robbed of its victim, it was — 

GLADYS VERNON I 


Chapter XLVI. 

RETRIBUTION. 

“ Save me ! repeated the frantic Gladys 
Vernon, and then recognizing Le Britta, she 
tottered back to a tree, and stood there, 
dumfounded. 

“ Miss Vernon ! ” gasped Le Britta, “ I 
thought” 

“I was dead? drowned! yes! yes!” in- 
terrupted Gladys, incoherently, “but we es- 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


353 

caped the flood by gaining the rocks in the 
center of the fiver near the falls. But he is 
hurt — is in peril ! ” 

'‘He? whom?” queried Le Britta, curi- 
ously. 

“Sidney — Mr. Vance. That man — do 
not let him take me — help.” 

“ Hello ! ” 

There was a crash in the wood, and a 
form burst into view, panting, excited, 
evil-eyed. 

With the startled ejaculation the new- 
comer, Ralph Durand, stared at Le Britta. 

“You here ! ” he scowled, darkly ; “always 
the marplot of my destiny ! That girl ! She 
is my legal ward. I demand her possession.” 

“ Never ! ” cried Le Britta, placing a shel- 
tering arm about the pale and terrified 
orphan. 

“We shall see!” raved Durand. “Ah! 
you have friends. So have I, and they are 
within call. What do you want ? ” 

About to utter a signal to his boasted 
friends, evidently at a near distance, Ralph 
Durand started back, as Le Britta’s com- 
panion advanced toward him. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


354 

His eyes fixed steadfastly upon his face, 
the tramp uttered the ominous words : 

“ At last ! You are the man / ” 

At the same time he put forth a hand, as 
if to seize the ruffian. 

“Eh? What’s this gibberish?” scowled 
Durand. 

“ I say, you are the man!'' 

“ What man ? ” 

“The murderer of old Gideon Vernon! 
Mr. Le Britta, I solemnly assert that I 
identify this man as the assassin of the 
master of ‘Hawthorne villa. Seize him I Do 
not allow him to escape ! ” 

At the ringing words of the tramp, Ralph 
Durand recoiled. Pale as death, he regarded 
Wharton with apprehension. 

“What mummery is this ? ” he choked out. 

“No mummery, Ralph Durand,” spoke Le 
Britta, sternly. “ Our friend speaks the 
truth. Providence has destined this strange 
meeting, for this man was a witness to the 
tragedy that robbed Gideon Vernon of his 
life.” 

“It is false!” 

“ It is true 1 ” 

Ralph Durand had recoiled step by step. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


355 

This accusation meaning peril and arrest, 
caused him to momentarily forget the object 
of his intrusion. 

'‘Hold on! You do not get away so 
easily/' spoke the tramp, springing in his 
path. 

“Stand back!" 

“No, you are my prisoner — an assassin. 
You shall answer to justice." 

“ I will not ! " 

There was a quick struggle. No equal in 
his weak, unnerved condition for the swarthy 
Durand, the tramp was sent reeling back 
from the conflict. 

“ Horrors ! ” ejaculated LeBritta, as, simul- 
taneously, there echoed forth the sharp report 
of a fire-arm. “ He has killed him ! " 

He glanced apprehensively at the prostrate 
Wharton, and then at the smoking revolver in 
Durands hand. Had the miscreant added 
another crime to the long list, as a fit finale to 
his career of wickedness ? 

No, for Wharton regained his feet unhurt, 
but Durand, with a frantic cry of pain and 
alarm, reeled where he stood, toppled and 
fell prone to the earth. 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


356 

^‘What has happened?” panted the terri- 
fied Gladys. 

‘‘Retribution!” pronounced a solemn 
voice, and Dr. Richard Milton appeared on 
the scene. 

“ Dick I” murmured Le Britta. 

“ I witnessed the appearance of this man. 
I hastened hither. He is Ralph Durand 1 ” 

“Yes.” 

“ He has met his doom.” 

“Why” 

“Do you not see? In drawing a weapon 
to resist our friend, Wharton, he exploded it 
accidentally. Swearing will do you no good, 
my man,” added the doctor, kneeling beside 
the prostrate Durand, who was raving 
wildly. “You had better be thinking of 
your sins, instead of adding to their enor- 
mity.” 

“Will I die?” quavered the shuddering 
craven. 

Doctor Milton examined a gaping wound 
in the chest. 

“There is no use in deceiving you. Your 
hours are numbered,” spoke the doctor,' 
gravely. “ Make your peace with earth and 
heaven, for you will not survive an hour.” 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


357 

A frightened expression came into the 
wounded man’s face at this statement. All 
the defiance and rascality of his nature seemed 
to ebb to the most cowardly shrinking, as he 
found his feeble strength pitted against that 
of the grim destroyer, death. 

It was only when Le Britta began to talk to 
him that he became more calm. As the 
honest-hearted photographer depicted his 
evil deeds, the results of their enactment, the 
possible restitution within his power, the evil 
face broke in the intensity of its malignant 
hate. 

He began to whimper, he sobbed, he broke 
down utterly, and then, reluctantly, with late 
atonement for his evil deeds, he admitted the 
truth of the tramp’s testimony, and, in the 
presence of witnesses, acknowledged the 
fearful crime that had robbed old Gideon 
Vernon of his life. 

Gladys shrank in horror from him, the 
others regarded him as a monster. Le Britta 
alone strove and pleaded with that wicked 
spirit in its last hour of earthly experience. 

He prayed fervently for the soul speeding 
its way unshriven to the Creator whose laws 
it had violated ; he tried to make Durand 


358 the chronicle of a camera. 

realize what he owed of penitence and sub- 
mission and penalty to outraged justice. 
vSaint and sinner, thus they remained until 
Doctor Milton touched his friend on the arm, 
whispering softly : 

“ He'hears you no longer — he is dying.'' 

Thus passed away the man who had caused 
so much woe to many human hearts, in his 
last moments , revealing the fact that the 
secret he held over Gideon Vernon was a 
forged note, purporting to have been exe- 
cuted by his dead son. 

The tramp and Doctor Milton, meantime, 
had gathered from Gladys the story of her 
escape from the island in the river with her 
lover, their flight, the pursuit by Durand and 
his allies, their capture, and her last escape. 

They went with her to the mill, and there, 
guarded by Durand's two accomplices, they 
found Sydney Vance, a bound prisoner. 
He was soon released, and the two men, ac- 
quainted with the details of Durand’s doom, 
made no resistance when threatened with ar- 
rest if they did not accompany them to the 
presence of Le Britta. 

Like a judge on the bench, the photogra- 
pher disposed of their cases. He made those 


the chronicle of a camera. 359 

hardened villains blush for their meanness in 
persecuting a poor orphan girl. He showed 
them how their sin, discovered, had failed of 
any reward, and he bade them appear at the 
inquest the next day, under penalty of being 
arrested for their share in dead Ralph Du- 
rand’s iniquitous plots. 

There were no further festivities that day, 
for the tragic occurrence of the hour had 
cast a gloom over the little company. Then, 
too, the forlorn condition of Gladys and 
Vance required attention. Their wild flight 
and lack of rest and food had made them pale 
and fatigued, and Le Britta insisted on an 
immediate return to town. 

What a warm welcome the desolate Gladys 
received from the gentle-hearted Mrs. Le 
Britta, and how sisterly and kind was the 
sympathetic Maud ! 

That night, like a dove returned to its cosy 
home-cote after storm, wreck and peril, the 
beautiful orphan slept as serenely under the 
roof of the happy Le Britta, as if housed 
under her own mother’s loving care. 


36 o 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


Chapter XLVIL 

CONCLUSION. 

Wedding chimes ! 

Jera Le Britta laid down the book he had 
been reading, arranged tie and gloves at a 
mirror, and prepared to descend to the draw- 
ing-rooms of Hawthorne villa, as into its 
open windows was wafted the clear silvery 
jangle of 

“ Bells, bells, bells ! wedding bells, — 

What a world of happiness their melody foretells ! ” 

Six months have passed since the day that 
the family picnic terminated in a tragedy, and 
strange and startling events have occurred 
since that time. 

As in a dream, the photographer pausing 
on the broad stairway of Gladys Vernon's 
regal home, surveyed the throng below, re- 
flecting on the happiness it engaged in, and 
thanked heaven for his involuntary part in 
bringing it all about. 

From the hour that Gladys Vernon became 
an inmate of the Le Britta home, her troubles 
seemed to dissipate. 

The identification of the tramp of Ralph 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 361 

Durand as the real assassin of her father, the 
confession of the villain himself, and the addi- 
tional testimony of his two cowardly accom- 
plices, was sufficient to clear the proud name 
of Sydney Vance of every stain of seeming 
guilt. 

The world knew the truth at last. The 
world impulsively bestowed the hero’s crown 
on the brave, single-hearted man, who, for 
pure love of his fellow-beings, had risked life 
and fortune to rescue a friendless orphan 
from the power of a scheming scoundrel. 

In his gentleness of soul;, Jera Le Britta 
could not but forgive Durand’s two emissa- 
ries, and with an impressive warning he bade 
them go and sin no more. To the sinister 
Meredith, however, he gave a stern, condem- 
natory lecture that checked his rascality and 
made him atone for the crimes he had 
committed. 

The culminating point in the entire case 
was the final revelation of Wharton, the 
tramp. It was the production of the missing 
hundred thousand dollars. 

His explanation was simple. The very 
night that Le Britta had been shut up in the 
iron vault by Darius Meredith, the tramp 


362 the chronicle of a camera. 

had surreptitiously entered the place and 
recovered the stolen packet of which he had 
been robbed. 

Six months past by in straightening out 
the tangle of the Vernon fortune, and now, 
with the past only a dark memory, with the 
future a path of flowers, illumined with golden 
sunshine, Gladys Vernon was about to wed 
the man she so devotedly loved. 

That afternoon, Jera Le Britta, an hon- 
ored invited guest, had taken a picture at 
the villa that was to be a rare memento of 
the photographic art, as well as a treasured 
souvenir. 

It showed Gladys in fair bridal array, it 
showed brave, stalwart Sydney Vance by her 
side, proud and happy, in the company of the 
one woman he had ever loved. The tramp, 
the new Dave Wharton, purified by suffer- 
ing, open-faced in the pride of reformation, 
was a lay figure in the background, where 
also lingered , the modest Doctor Milton, 
pretty Miss Maud smiling by his side. 

Le Britta was compelled to officiate at the 
camera, of course, so he was represented by 
his beautiful wife and two loving cherubs. 

And in the foreground, her face like that of 


THE CHRONICLE OE A CAMERA. 363 

an angel, beaming, grateful, serene, was the 
little blind girl, and a new expression in 
those gentle eyes told that faithful Doctor 
Milton’s patient work had brought a result, 
and she saw God’s blessed sunlight once more, 
and was the happiest of all God’s blessed 
creatures, in all the wide, wide world, that 
lovely spring morning ! 

'' Oh ! what we owe you, Mr. Le Britta ! ” 
murmured Gladys, as she placed her tremu- 
lous hand upon his arm. ''See what your 
sacrifice and perseverence have wrought — 
happiness for half-a-score of people. We 
can never thank you ! ” 

"Not to me,” replied the photographer, 
gravely, " but to heaven we must be grateful. 
Its instruments are chosen and armed, and 
wrong will always be crucified in the end, 
right must triumph. I have done my duty — 
its reward makes this day seem like the days 
that will dawn, never to fade, beyond the gates 
that are ever ajar ! ” 

Wedding bells ! 

How they rang out. How they echoed in 
the ears of the joyful coterie of friends, who, 
at eventide, bade happy Gladys Vance a 
brief adieu ! 


THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA. 


364 

The heart of Jera Le Britta was too full 
for utterance as they drove homeward in the 
gloaming. 

Victory had crowned his efforts, success 
promised in the practical, every-day life 
ahead, health, prosperity and happiness 
were his. 

To work with men, to work for men — 
what a glad existence! To better the con- 
dition of humanity in his daily tasks, how 
calm, how radiant the results I 

Pinion-poised, across their path, as he re- 
fleeted, a lark sprang from the heather. 

Up it arched, flying straight into the face 
of the calm and holy stars. So the soul of 
the thinker seemed to soar to higher life, to 
nobler ambitions and impulses. 

He followed the quick flight of the bird. 
It seemed a promise for the future, a lesson 
from the past. 

For, amid the glory of the spangled night, 
the lark seemed singing at the gates of 
heaven 1 


THE END. 


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Have you read the # 

Following? 


THE MELBOURNE SERIES, 


THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, Reade. 

FOUL PLAY, Charles Reade. 

VERY HARD CASH, Charles Reade. 

P UT YO URSELF IN HIS PL A CE, Charles Reade. 

tIACK SHEPPARD, W. Harrison Ainsworth. 

FOR THE TERM OF HIS NATURAL LIFE, 

r^arcus Clarke. 


AflERlCAN AUTHOR’S SERVES. 

A trOltLirS rAIli MVSTERY, Weldon J. Cobb. 

( Ready Oetol)er for opoTiing ol' Kxpo.sition.) 

DEAD IN THE EYE OF THE LAW, Author of Hr. 

Perkins of New Jersey. ( Ready Shortiy.) 

THE CHRONICLE OF A CAMERA, Paul Ingelow. 

( Ready Shortly.) 


niSCELLANEOUS. 

.TosEPjr AurvREjrs, B49 

MJLLINITE (The Lady’s Inlaid.) 


Henry Fielding. 
Adolph Belot. 


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Melbourne Publishing Co., 

OHICTtGO. 


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